The Brothers' War
by TMNT Redneck
Summary: REWRITTEN! 1861-1865 The American Civil War... It is night. Lord, how we welcomed the respite from our ceaseless march... Our enemies, we hope, are just as weary... I just want this cruel war to end... Leonardo, Donatello, Michelangelo, and Raphael. AU Humanized
1. Beginnings: Leonardo

**_A/N: Well, for second time readers of the story, you're in for a big change (hopefully for the better). The plot is still basically the same, but I'm gonna go more and more into depth and details. For first time readers, I'll advise you to mentally go back to this time period, and if you're easily offended by the various issues, I advise you turn back now. If I still have your attention, I'll shut up so you can read._**

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**Beginnings: Leonardo**

The air was crisp and cool, fireflies dancing in the shadows of the Blue Ridge Mountains. Fog had settled on the land, making the small lights seem disembodied orbs. Leonardo sighed dreamily as he observed the cooling of the earth. The night was still. He could hear the horses in the barn, an owl in the distant trees. The crickets started their chorus, and somewhere a bull frog croaked deeply. A hound at his feet perked its ears, staring into the darkness, then put his head down, uninterested.

"Leo?"

The man turned, eyes lingering on the pale face of his wife, her skin bathed in moonlight. Knowing she wished him to come inside and go to bed, he stood from the wooden chair on his porch. The hound dog looked up in indignation, affronted that his human companion would choose the stuffy house over the back porch and the company of the nocturnal creatures. Leo patted the creature on the head and wrapped an arm around his wife's waist, briefly resting his head on the crown of her head. The small house welcomed them, and soon the couple's soft snores joined the melody of night.

The day started early, Leonardo waking to the scent of bacon drifting through the door separating the back of the house (and their bedroom) from the main room. His wife already had coffee brewed and breakfast cooked, and was setting the table for two. Breakfast was always a quiet affair, with few words exchanged before Leo left to tend the small farm. He first tended to the animals, who needed him sooner than the crops. With a total of four working horses, a cow, the most stubborn mule on the planet (much to his owner's chagrin), and a stud-horse in the barn, a coop of chickens, and four hounds, Leo had his work cut out for him every morning.

"Mornin', marse Leonard," greeted the old Negro field hand given to the young family by his wife's father.

"Morning, Jesse," Leo returned.

He didn't like owning the man, but with money the way it was, he had no choice. Unless he sold him, but the money would only get them so far- and that without hiring a hand to help with the work. As compensation, Leo treated the man as close to family as was permitted by social standards. Jesse understood somewhat, knew that if he was sold he could end up a lot worse, and that he would hardly be able to make a life as a free black. These facts didn't make his situation any better, but they provided something to think about.

"Whe' you want me today?" Jesse asked, rubbing his aching joints.

Leo thought a moment, but found his mind too clouded to provide a good answer. "Wherever need to the most, I guess. Help me get as much done today as possible. Tomorrow's Sunday. I'll let you go over to Old Taggard's plantation to see that daughter of yours, if the old man hasn't sold her by now."

Jesse nodded and stood, inwardly ecstatic that he'd get to see his little girl again. Leo watched him hobble off, and resumed making his rounds with fodder. The animals greeted him happily, the only exception being the mule, who just looked at him as if wishing he'd drop dead. The old creature didn't like anybody or anything and only took joy out of stomping whatever got under his hooves, be that his owner's foot or a small animal. But he could pull a plow, and that alone kept Leo from boiling him down to feed the hounds.

As he worked, he thought of how he got this far. His father sent him down to attend West Point, become a military genius, and generally succeed in life. But the old man hadn't expected him to meet young Margaret Hill. The feisty woman had worked her way into his heart, and they stole away in the night, married soon after, and found themselves a piece of land nestled in the mountains of northern Virginia. Margaret's father wasn't keen on the marriage, had chased Leo several times away, balls whizzing past his neck and shoulders but never touching him. But after the death of the woman's mother, he had sobered up and accepted the young man as his son.

The people in this part of the country were hard working, and honest (for the most part). His best friend in the area was a lank, scruffy fellow named George Nells, who always criticized his name and origin, but laughed and shared a drink afterwards. He was a simple man, not inclined to many things aside from sitting on his porch and watching the world go by. Always up for a laugh and a bit of sport, he made fast friends with many people. George had six pretty daughters, all married off to gentlemen of the neighboring plantations, and not one son to his name. He married the daughters off at a young age, they being rather suitable to the tastes of the young dandies who'd taken them, and each was so set on his girl that their fathers had paid good money for their hands. George now lived in relative comfort, listening to the ranting of an old Negro he didn't own (but who insisted on staying anyways) and antagonizing his old woman.

"Lee Ham!"

Leonardo looked up form his work, smiling as he watched the lank George Nells come riding in from the east. He was the only man to ever address him as 'Lee Ham', refusing the title 'Leonardo Hamato', because to him it sounded too foreign.

"Georgie!" Leo called in reply, lifting a hand in greeting. George reined in his old grey mare to stand beside his friend. "Still breaking hearts?"

"You know it, Lee, you know it," George said with a wink. "Workin' yourself to death today?"

"You know it," Leo mimed, brown eyes shining with mirth.

George immediately slid off his mount and clapped Leo once on the back, then set to work beside him. The first time he'd done this, Leo had been slightly offended, and asked George to leave him to his work. But he soon realized that that was the man's only way of saying 'thank you for staying around' without humiliating himself, and soon learned to accept it.

"You been hearin' the news?" George asked slyly.

Leonardo looked at his friend flatly, cocking a brow. "All that talk of secession? Yeah."

"Virginia's planning on joining the Confederacy," George said it quietly, as if it were a big secret.

Leo sighed, shaking his head. He was a Union man. George was a Union man. But if Virginia seceded... Leo couldn't argue. Though he was born in New York, Virginia was his home now. If Virginia needed him, he would take up arms to defend her. So would George. So would every decent man in the state.

"And that's not all," George continued, raising both eyebrows. "President Lincoln's raising troops. There's war brewing."

Leo knew it. For awhile he'd felt it... The tension. Just a bit different than the war with Mexico. This one was more personal. This one... Leo was shaken from his thoughts when he heard his wife calling from the porch. It was midday, and she'd prepared a meal, as she always did. There always being more than enough food, Leonardo invited George, who was grateful for the free meal. As they came in from the field, Leo nodded to Jesse. He nodded slightly back and continued with his work. Mrs. Hamato would have saved him some of the meal, and he'd eat after his master and George had finished and returned to their work.

"Miz Ham!" George called, sweeping his slouch hat from his head gallantly and bowing to the woman. She laughed.

"Mister Nells, how good to see you this fine afternoon."

"You're quite a sight yourself, Ma'am, if your husband doesn't mind me saying so," George winked, and settled himself in his usual spot at the table.

His forward attitude was another thing that had put Leonardo off him at first, but he'd grown used to it quickly. Leo thanked his wife as she set the table in front of them and dished them out equal rations of venison steak, beans, and brussel sprouts, then poured a glass each of fresh lemonade she'd made that morning. The woman then left the men to their meal, returning to her stitching. She was a smart woman, and she knew all this talk of war and secession was not a pack of empty threats. She unfolded the cadet blue coat she was making, shaking it out to inspect it. It would fit her husband fine when the time came. She peeked over at where the two men were happily conversing, unaware of her curiosity. Did George's missus make him a coat? Would she cry on that inevitable day? She wouldn't. She vowed to herself to be strong for her husband, whether she supported his going off to war or not.

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_**A/N: I hope you liked it, but I can only know if you review. If you found yourself offended, I did warn you, so I'll ignore you when you set the review board on fire. This was just a sort of introductory chapter, and there'll be one more before we plunge into the depths of war, human nature, and family. G'day!**_

_**REVIEW!**_


	2. Michelangelo, Donatello, Raphael

_**A/N: So here we go with the second chapter, as I said it'll just be an introductory chapter, but there's a lot of information here. Thanks to my reviewers and followers- y'all are what keeps me writing these stories.**_

_**HannahCake310: Leonardo, I've determined is 35 at the beginning of this story (1861). That would make Raph and Donny 34 and Mikey 33, for anyone interested in knowing.**_

_**Guest: Thanks for the review, and I hope you like the rest of the story**_

_**Now, without further ado, I leave you to the story.**_

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**Chapter 2: Beginnings: Donatello, Michelangelo, Raphael**

New York smelled sweet in the early morning air, a cool breeze blowing over the orchards of the Hamato family and tickling Michelangelo's hair about his ears. The youngest of the Hamato brothers laughed as the breeze tickled him again, billowing his blond curls, and those of his daughters as they ran and played with their cousins. The twins, Mary Belle, and Jane Grace, were his only children, and the very image of their carefree father. Their six cousins were replicas of their fathers as well. Lenore, Othello, and Annabelle Lee shared Donatello's chocolate eyes and curly deep brown hair. Samuel, James, and William Barret all took their honey colored eyes and straight auburn hair, and their intense nature from their father, Raphael. The wives often joked that their only contributions were the time and care it took to raise the brood.

The women were currently in the parlor of the stead's biggest house- the one the brothers' father built when he first came to America after a tour of Europe. All four brothers were born in this very house, each from a different mother, who one after another left their father a widower. As they grew and married, they built their own smaller houses spread out over the property, each tending to their own section of the vast orchard.

Elve-Anna, Raphael's soft-hearted little lady, was fluttering about the room, filling glasses of wine (which was quite abundant around the area), and small plates with tarts and other light desserts, and cheeses. Her husband, Donatello, his wife Delores, and the mens' father (affectionately called Splinter by most of the small neighboring community) were all seated about the parlor, listening to Mary Anne, Michelangelo's wife play softly on a grand piano, her voice as gentle and light as her fingers on the keys of the great instrument. The notes of _Kathleen Mavourneen_ flowed through the parlor, and out into the yard where Michelangelo swayed lightly on his feet as he watched the kids tumbling and playing. He hoped their youth would never end, that they'd stay innocent and carefree the rest of their days. Maybe it was possible... Maybe...

A light tap on his right shoulder brought his attention to Mei, the young Japanese woman his father employed. She never spoke, but her thoughts were clear. Mikey followed her back into the parlor, and was roughly shoved aside by Raphael as the older man stormed from the house. Whatever argument he'd had must have been pretty silent, he assumed, because all he'd heard were the strains of the sweet music and the children's laughter. Donatello, and the three wives were all looking bewildered at Raph's sudden angry departure, and Mary Anne looked slighted, thinking it was her music that agitated him. Mikey raised a brow, but his father shook his head sagely.

"My sons," the old man said. "Our country is descending into war." He gestured to a newspaper resting on a low center table. "Your brother wants to go, to fight. I do not wish to lose another son."

Mikey and Don looked to the ground, knowing their eldest brother's absence was troubling their father's soul. He'd been gone so long... And not to West Point. The family could only assume what had happened to him. Both looked up as Splinter continued.

"I cannot stop Raphael. Not in my old age. I cannot keep him safe any more. But you can."

The two young men looked at their father curiously.

"You are young and strong. Perhaps you can dissuade him from this path to war. But if not... You are excellent fighters. You can defend yourself, each other, and many others. My time is long gone... None of us know the whereabouts of Leonardo. But you three can stay together. Keep each other strong. Keep each other safe."

After a moment of quiet contemplation, and not a word more, Splinter stood with the help of Mei, and she helped him to his quarters. Don and Mikey looked at each other, not believing what their father had said. Their women were silent, waiting for a reaction, until Elve-Anna stood from her place.

"I'd best find him," she said of Raphael. "It was a delight, everyone."

She hugged everyone, and gracefully made her exit. Her husband wouldn't have wandered far, and the kindly woman knew just where to find him. Threading through the woods on a narrow trail, her small heels kicking up tiny clouds of dust, Elve-Anna found herself at a small pond, behind her husband who was perched on a large stone. He heard her approach and turned, helping her up to sit alongside him. By now his anger had dissipated, leaving a sort of dull anguish.

"Elvie, I..." he started, staring at their reflections in the still water. He wrapped his arms around her, drawing her close. "Why won't he listen?"

Elve-Anna was accustomed to her husband's temper, the sensitive side of him he tried so hard to hide. She looked at his reflection in the water calmly, and said in an even voice.

"It's the only way," she started. "The only way he can keep you safe. Raph-"

She tucked a finger under his chin and brought his eyes around to meet hers. "He almost lost you in Mexico. He almost lost all of you in Mexico," she recalled. "He _did_ lose Leo, to what none of us know. If he loses another son he's going to fall apart."

Raph's face grew cloudy again. "But they're tearing apart our country down there! I can't stand by and let anyone do that!"

Elve-Anna sighed. Why men always wanted to go off to war and prove themselves she would never know. No woman would. "You can't let yourself tear apart this family, Raphael. If you go now, Splinter will die, your children will be left without a father, your brothers and nieces and nephews will all be at a loss! Don't succumb to this desire. Do not leave us. Please."

Raph growled and leapt off the rock, only pausing to help his wife down before again storming away. Elve-Anna was at a loss. With a dismal sigh, she made her way back to the big house, to collect her children and bid her extended family good day. All eight children were still playing in the yard, a couple of boys up a tree, one chasing two of the girls around with a frog. She passed them by first, going into the big house. Delores had been playing the piano, and everyone looked up, the notes dying down.

"I can't get through to him," the woman sighed.

Donatello stood, taking his sister-in-law by the elbows and leading her to a chair. "Ah, Elvie. He'll come round. Don't you worry."

She fought lightly at being sat down. "I think it best I take the children home. They have a few chores to do later."

The family nodded and rose to hug their goodbyes before letting the woman leave. Everyone stared after her a moment, her dress swishing as she went to collect her boys. The brothers looked at each other briefly before Don started for the door.

"Why don't we go for a ride, Mike?"

The youngest nodded and followed Don to the big house's barn, selecting a dapple mare for himself and saddling up as his older brother chose a chestnut gelding. They rode out of the yard at an easy trot which quickened to a canter as they made their way down a well trodden path toward town. After three miles, they were back at a trot, and turned on a smaller path leading through the forest.

"Sounds like we're gonna go off to war again," Mikey stated simply, looking straight ahead through the trees and brush.

Don nodded quietly, remembering Mexico.

"Think it'll really happen?" Mikey asked, looking back at his brother, who'd fallen back a few paces.

"It's already happening, Mikey," Don concluded after a moment. "President Lincoln is raising troops already- thankfully Raph doesn't know this yet, or he'd be gone already. We have a bit of time to get ready before enlisting with him."

Mikey sighed softly. "You'd think being shot at down in Mexico would settle his taste. But that's our Raph for ya."

Don laughed humorlessly. "He's got grit, I'll give him that."

The younger man looked curiously at the older. "You never wanted to go to Mexico, did you?" He asked.

Don shook his head. "No, Mike, I didn't. I don't want to go to war against the south. I just want there to be peace; is that too much to ask?"

"You know it is," Mikey breathed, shaking his head with a tiny smile playing on his lips.

"I was afraid of that."

Mikey'd had enough of the somber mood, and dropped back to be even with his brother. With a laugh, the youngest shoved his brother roughly to the side, unbalancing him and making his horse nervous. Don glared at him.

Reining his mare around, Mike laughed," Race you back home!"

With a swift kick to the mare's flanks, he was gone in a cloud of dust, leaving Donatello struggling to catch up. He laughed, and called out a playfully indignant 'hey', before emerging through his brother's dust cloud enough to see him standing on his hands on the saddle, smiling cheekily up at him with his reins in his mouth. Don shook his head at his brother's acrobatic trick and slapped his reins against his gelding's flanks as Mike flipped and landed upright in the saddle, laughing like a maniac.

"You're not the only one who can do that," Don called as he past him, flipping easily into a single handstand, reins in his teeth, before quickly righting himself.

Mikey laughed as they continued neck to neck, remembering all the lessons Splinter taught them when they were young- forms of moving and fighting he'd learned from his vast travels throughout the world. They didn't do any more tricks in the saddle, sensing the horses were getting nervous about the sudden changes in weight they were bearing.

When the brothers galloped into the yard of the big house, they were still neck to neck, and the race was declared a tie as they cooled down their weary mounts and returned them to the barn. Delores, Mary Anne, and the children had all been seated on the porch when the brothers had ridden up, laughing and joking with one another. The wives looked at each other and shook their heads knowingly with mirroring smiles. Boys will be boys.

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_**A/N: Hope you liked this chapter- it was a bit longer than the last one. Next we'll start getting more into the action, and we'll be introduced to some new characters as well. I think the way this story will be divided up will be a Leo chapter, and a chapter for the rest of the brothers, a Leo chapter, and so on and so forth. In important chapters, I'll probably have a Leo section and a section for the other brothers and alternate that way. Just so you know.**_

_**Anyways, y'all tell me what you think here, what you liked or didn't like, what you hope to see in future chapters, da da da da dada.**_


	3. Join'd Up

_**A/N: So, here we are for a another chapter of The Brother's War. It's a Leo chapter for all you Leo fans, and a George chapter for... Well whoever likes George. I do ^_^ He amuses me. I'd like to thank all you guys who've reviewed, favorited, followed, etc, and I ask that you keep it up so I feel obligated to keep this story going.**_

_**HannahCake310: You'll just have to wait and see! I don't intend to kill off any of the brothers in this story, don't worry. Thanks for the review!**_

_**I Love Kittens too: Thanks for the review, and yeah, he would be devastated.**_

_**And if any of you are really into the Civil War and poetry or songs, go to civil war poetry . org (take out all the spaces), to find a huge collection of both Union and Confederate poems and songs- it's a really cool site.**_

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**Chapter Three: Join'd Up**

Leo's wagon jostled dangerously on the mountain roads, threatening to tip over the side and plummet to the foot of the mountains. George, clutching the seat desperately with a green tinge to his face fought to keep his breakfast in his stomach where it belonged. Leo cast a sympathetic glance at his weak-stomached friend and maneuvered his old wagon.

"I wish we coulda taken the train," George whined for the tenth time since they started out early that morning.

"You'd be just as sick on a train, George, though I hate to tell you. Besides, if we were on the train, we'd be cramped in a tiny car, surrounded by people breathing down our necks." Leo caught a whiff of the man from where he sat on his right side. The stench almost made him gag. "Course you'd probably clear out the car the first two minutes."

George huffed, mildly offended at his friend's comment. "I was gonna bathe, but someone insisted on enlisting today. Ahem, I belive his name is _Lee Ham_!"

George had momentarily crossed his arms over his chest, but his hands darted back to their original place clutching the board seat as the wagon hit a rock in the road and tipped dangerously. George gulped and offered a silent prayer for his life.

"Dad blame it, Lee Ham!" the frightened man shouted.

Leo laughed at his friend's discomfort, shaking his head. "Don't worry your pretty little head, Georgie Nells, we're almost to Winchester anyways."

"I don't know why we had to come this far to enlist! We could have stayed close to home just as easy," George complained.

"Now Georgie," Leo smiled. "Where's your sense of adventure gotten to?"

Just as he said that, the buggy took a dive down a treacherous dip, the horses working themselves into a frenzy to keep he wagon from clipping their heels. Both men screamed, eyes wide, until the buggy miraculously hit the bottom of the hill and the horses were reined to a stop by a pale-faced Leonardo. Both men were breathing heavily from the shock of the sudden drop.

"It left when it realized you were gonna kill us!"

Leo sighed as he regained his composure. George wasn't gonna let him forget this. Not on his life. He ignored the ranting fellow the rest of the ride to Winchester, instead imagining what the town would be like. There'd be tall buildings and streets teeming with people and horses and buggies. Walking down the street would be freshly promoted officers of the Confederate States of America. Leonardo disguised his excitement well, his outwardly expression carefree, as if it didn't bother him whether they got to Winchester or not. But Leo wouldn't let them get side tracked- he hadn't been to many large cities.

Winchester was huge compared to the tiny community that neighbored both men's farms. Both looked in awe about them as the horses trotted down the street. All different kinds of buildings rose to the sides of the road, and all sorts of people traversed the streets. Elegantly dressed women walked the inner sidewalks, closest to the buildings, while finely clothed men strolled easily close to the open road. Some walked arm in arm, others walked alone, and there were a couple of small groups chatting quietly as they walked. Leo suddenly was conscious of the state of his own roughly used little wagon- but he hid this just as well as his excitement, and found a place to leave his team while he and George sought out the recruitment office. They found it not to be in the form of an office, but more of an outdoor booth, with men lined up all down the side of the street to enlist.

"Looks like we're in for quite a long day, Lee," George sighed wistfully as his eyes roamed down the long line.

Oh, how he hated waiting. And lines. Leo shook his head at the man's expression and pulled him over to join the line.

The line had been horrendously long, and George lost patience early in the game, but stayed by his friend's side (though he dearly wished to go find something and somewhere to eat). Hours later, they were again climbing the treacherous slopes on the road back to their respective homes, laughing loudly at each other as they made fun of the 'perfect soldiers' they were supposed to be.

Both had fought in Mexico, and both knew how officers and men could go round and round. They knew about propaganda, how war was described as honorable and romantic, to get young glory hunters to enlist. And once they did, they saw how truly awful the whole business was. But somehow, everyone always got suckered into it.

This time around, George wasn't as sick, and his knuckles weren't white from clutching the rude wooden seat. He was at ease now, and knew the next few days would be anxious ones as they prepared to join their units. The friends wouldn't be together- Leonardo in the 1st Virginia cavalry, and George in the 13th Virginia infantry, but that didn't mean they couldn't have there fun before parting ways.

"Say, Lee- you know that you'll be riding with _Jeb Stuart_, doncha?"

Leo nodded, a smile on his face. Stuart was already renown as a cavalry officer, and to ride with him was a great honor, even if he was but a private. Leo determined then to get promoted, at least high enough to see eye to eye with the officers, and let his voice be heard. He didn't do well as a follower, and the fact that he was a natural leader was sure to get him promoted at least once.

"I hope you got a good horse, Lee Ham," George said, looking sideways at his friend. "From what I've seen your best horse'll just get you to the lines. If you're to ride with _Stuart_, you'll need a finer beast than that!"

Leo frowned. He hadn't thought about it until now, but his horses weren't fit for the cavalry. They'd give out soon under the conditions they'd have to labor under. Even Strider, his most prized beast, was nothing compared to the officers' mounts.

"You're right, Georgie," he mused, trying to figure out a solution to his problem.

George had the answer. "Now you just leave it to your pal Georgie Nells. He'll take care of ye."

The rascal winked at his friend, and Leo rolled his eyes. George could make a hog fly if he set his mind to it, and the soon-to-be cavalryman knew that by tomorrow evening, there'd be at least four horses in his corral- all fit to perform in the field. The rest of the ride was spent laughing and joking with each other, knowing that in a matter of days it would be all over. They might see each other again, but it would be different. They would be different.

The next day, as predicted, George came over early in the morning leading a string of five horses. All five were prime specimens of horse flesh- Leonardo could only wonder where he managed to find them. The lead beast was a buckskin gelding, followed by two dapple mares, a roan gelding, and a chestnut mare.

"Take whichever you like, Lee. I owe it to you," George said happily as he watched the look of approval cross his friend's face.

"I don't know what you owe me for," Leo mused, smiling. "But I sure am grateful."

His little wife stepped out of the house then, and approached the two men and the horses. Her eyes lit up when she saw the roan, and she touched a hand to its cheek. Contemplating a moment, George removed her hand from the horse and separated it from the string, putting its lead back in her hand.

"Think of it as a good-luck gift, Miz Ham," George said at her bewildered look.

"B-But Mister Nells-" she started.

George shushed her politely and looked to Leonardo. "You got your pick yet, Lee?"

Leo looked at the buckskin again. It looked back at him. "This one'll do, George."

"Good choice!" the man praised, handing the gelding over to his friend. "You take good care of him now. Carry him all through Virginny and beyond!"

It took Leo a minute to realize his friend was talking to the horse, and when he did, he laughed aloud and gave George a friendly shove. "Why don't you stay awhile. We can all go for a ride."

George thought a moment, and looked down at the woman, who was stroking the roan's neck as she pondered the proposition. "Miz Ham, do you have any objections to riding with this old rogue?"

She laughed, shaking her head. "Of course not, Mister Nells!"

Leonardo walked their two horses to the barn, and George followed with the rest of the string. Leonardo then proceeded to saddle up the two geldings and helped his wife into the saddle before swinging up into his own. He tipped his wide brimmed hat to George, signalling him to lead on, and the trio threaded their way through the trees and mountains of the property, crossing over onto George's when they got to it. Leonardo tested the legs and the lungs of his new buckskin, riding at a gallop through an open field that George had yet to cultivate. He laughed aloud as the horse carried him easily over the plain, seeming to gain power from the wind.

Doubling back, he shouted to George, "Oh, he'll do Georgie Nells! He'll do!"

"Now I told you he would!" George replied when Leo returned.

Leo patted his new mount fondly on the neck, trying to decide on a name for the beast. Every respectable creature had a name. Leo thought of George's old mare, named Hell Rider for her stubborn attitude but fleet hooves. _But not every creature has a respectable name,_ he thought with a smile. George was studying the gelding as they rode back.

"That horse'll carry you fine, Lee Ham. It will indeed." George snapped his fingers in realization, and said excitedly, "I got a name!"

Leo was wary, knowing George's habits in naming creatures. "And it is?"

"Degorro, or whatever the hell them Mexicans played down in Mexico," George said, suddenly forgetting the word. "They played it and whipped them boys like hound dogs."

Leo thought a moment. "You mean Deguello?"

"That's it!" George cried, triumphant.

Leonardo was skeptical. "I dunno George. Don't think that'un will work."

George's face fell briefly before it lit up again. "El Dorado!"

Leo mulled the name over, repeating it over in his head. The more he did so, the more he liked it. Slowly he allowed a smile and nodded at George, who whooped triumphantly.

"Haha! Lee Ham, I knew I'd find a name for the beast!"

Leo shook his head fondly at the man, amused by how simply he was pleased. George then cast a glance through the woods, could see his cottage.

"Well, Lee Ham, it's been a pleasure ridin' with you." George thrust out a hand, which Leonardo clasped firmly and shook once. "I'll meet you on the battlefield or on the other side, brother."

Unexpectedly, George leaned in the saddle and embraced his friend strongly, the startled cavalry man returning the hug awkwardly. Without further ado, he spurred Hell Rider in the direction of his cottage and whooped loud, raising a hand over his shoulder in farewell. Leo watched him go, shaking his head. His wife reined her roan up beside him.

"He didn't even come back to fetch his other horses," she said, following her husband's gaze. "He's a good man, Leo. A good man. I hope he makes it back."

Leonardo nodded his agreement, and threw and arm around his wife's shoulders, leaning to speak into her ear. "That he is, and his wife is a good woman. When I leave, I want you to pack everything up and go over there. Stay with her until the war is over, and I return for good. I don't want you to be in that house alone. Take Jesse too, now that I think of it."

Margaret nodded, and together they rode back home, hand in hand.

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_**A/N: Well, there we have it. Leo and George have said goodbye, war is fast approaching, and Leo gets to ride with Jeb Stuart! Jeb is my favorite ^_^ Anyways, I don't think this'll be the last we see of Georgie. No sirree, not the last time. This chapter was about the same as the last, but it's a decent length anyways (I think). For the record, the 1st VA Cavalry and the 13th VA Infantry were real, both were organized in Winchester in 1861. Just so you know.**_

_**Gimme your thoughts and criticisms, whatever, in the form of a review please, and have a nice day. The next chapter will be up soon (not today, but soon). *Pssssst! Reviews make me write faster!***_


	4. Baptism in Blood

_**A/N: Well, here's chapter four. Some action in this one, and we get to meet my favorite OC of all time ^_^. He may not seem like much now, but his character will progress throughout the story. Give it up for O'Connor! **__**As always, thanks you guys for the reviews/follows/favorites.**_

**_HannahCake310: Thanks for the lovely review. And Jeb is brilliant! He also has the best beard in the whole of the Confederate Army... If only he'd lived through the war!_**

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**Chapter Four: Baptism in Blood**

Three days after Leonardo and George's farewells, the cavalryman reported for duty. For the first time in thirteen years, the young man felt the long hours of drill that a soldier must put up with. Nights were extremely festive for the regiment, Colonel Stuart calling for fiddlers, banjo pickers, guitarists, anyone who could get a tune out of whatever instruments they had. They'd sing, some would get up and jig. For a laugh, a brawny Irishman named O'Connor got together with a young man called Mathis, the younger tying a rag around his head like a bonnet and adopting a high pitched 'female' voice, and the two waltzed comically to the tune of Zip Coon. Those who weren't rolling on the ground, clutching their sides, were singing along to the old song, fighting chuckles as they did.

One of these nights (though not when O'Connor and Mathis did their 'waltz'), the friendly Irishman plopped himself by Leonardo, winking as he took a swig of cold coffee. Before then, Leonardo kept mostly to himself- doing his duties and drilling as he should, and tapping his foot to the nightly concerts, but staying out of the big groups. O'Connor had noticed, and reckoned that the younger man needed a friend if he were to survive camp life.

"Name's O'connor," he greeted, thrusting out a large hand. Leo took it firmly and nodded his greeting. "Reckon ye know me already, dont'cha?"

"I do, O'Connor. That was a grand waltz you had with Mathis," Leo said, chuckling.

The Irishman boomed, clutching his sides as he laughed. This wasn't the first time someone had brought up that night, and it tickled him pink that he had made everyone laugh so much- whether it be at his own expense or not.

"Aye, that 'as a fun night. What's your name, mate?"

"Lee Brown," Leo smiled, remembering how George had given him the name at the recruitment booth those few weeks ago.

_"Lee Ham wouldn't do, no, not at all," _George said afterwards, on the ride home. _"General Ham! See? Just doesn't sound good, Lee. Now 'General Brown'- that's a right fine name. A fine name."_

"Nice to meet you, Lee Brown," O'Connor said, mirroring Leo's smile. "Have ye heard anything of our future movements?"

Leo shook his head, and O'Connor peered about suspiciously, as if he were going to tell Leo a top secret bit of information.

"I hear we be movin' out soon. Don't know where too, but I know it'll be soon. Colonel Stuart's getting a bit anxious, methinks.'

_July 21st, 1861. Manassas Junction._

_We arrived at the climax of the Battle. Colonel Stuart led us in a charge against a mass of New Yorkers. We whipped them, sending them back to their rear. We arrived by rail with other reinforcements, extending the Confederate line, and successfully breaking enemy lines. Our army chased them all the way to Washington, with their tails between their legs. A great victory today._

Cannons boomed, shaking the earth as shells sent piles of earth flying. Balls whizzed by the heads of the 1st Virginia, but they stayed ready, the horses only slightly wavering when the screaming shots got too close. Leo felt the tingling in his gut, the anticipation of the coming fight. O'Connor was at his side, sitting easily on his sorrel mare as he checked his pistol over again. Leo followed his example, and made sure his saber was buckled on good. He took a deep breath, breathing the acrid stench of gunpowder, sweat, and blood. The order for the charge came, the trumpets blared, and the 1st Virginia spurred their horses into gallop to meet the Yankees on the field. A scream ripped from the throats of every man, echoing the screams from earlier in the day. The enemy faltered for a moment, knowing what the cry meant.

A quick death, for the lucky. For others, it would mean the blazing pain to various parts of the body as they were filled with hot lead, then the feeling of so many feet clambering over their body, breaking their bones, before finally- mercifully -their life drained out of them, and the pain disappeared.

Leo's screams mixed with the others, though it rose unbidden from his throat. He didn't even know he was screaming. He raised his pistol at the first Yankee he saw, and pulled the trigger. As the first man fell, he was already aiming at another. When his pistol was empty, he shoved it back into his belt, reining his horse around and kicking out with his left foot at a Yankee that thought to try and drag him from his mount. He drew his saber and dealt the man a slash across the throat, killing him quickly. Through the haze of battle clouding his mind, he felt a tug on his coat, and out of the corner of his eye saw a small round hole torn through the shoulder. In the back of his mind he knew he was lucky. But for the present, he kicked his horse roughly in the sides, dispatching Union soldiers expertly with his saber. The mass of blue coated men started to retreat, and Leo found himself being pushed with them for a ways before he managed to break free, and sought out others of his regiment.

The 1st Virginia's baptism in blood was the first great victory for the Confederate States. Leo stared across the bloodied plain before him and wondered how it could be a victory. Mangled bodies were strewn like toys, and wails of the wounded rose eerily from the torn ground. With his ears still ringing from the battle, Leo did his best to help with the wounded, but found he was doing more harm than good, and settled for sitting wearily by a fire with O'Connor. The Irishman had come out of the fray in the same health he went in with, but his horse was in no such state, its body laying atop that of an unfortunate soldier, who was wounded and on the ground when the horse went down. O'Connor continued to fight, punching and shoving when Union soldiers got too close for him to maneuver the large Bowie knife he carried.

O'Connor had been quiet since the order to 'trot back to camp', musing the battle. By now their entire regiment had heard of the illustrious 'Stonewall Brigade', named such that very day when Thomas Jackson was observed standing 'like a Stone Wall,' with shells raining down around him. The Irishman was very interested in seeing this man, what he was made of.

"Care to take a walk, Lee?" he asked slyly, casting a sideways glance at his friend.

Leo looked around their small camp, and decided it wasn't worth staying in. He stood slowly, brushing as much dirt as he could off himself. The pair then sorely walked to a different camp, listening as they crossed through it to a fiddler playing a joyful air at the victory of the day. In a dark place between fires, the pair were met with a tall figure on horseback.

"Where do you boys belong?" came a smooth deep voice.

Knowing instinctively it was an officer, both men saluted and came to attention as they answered in unison. "1st Virginia Cavalry, Company D."

The figure came into the light, and the friends recognized their own Colonel Stuart.

"You boys did well today, but where do you think you're headed?"

O'Connor saw no use in lying to Stuart, "Goin' to see what this General Jackson is made up, if there's no trouble in that, sir. Been hearin' a lot about him."

Stuart thought a moment. "What are your names?"

"Lee Brown."

"Cameron O'Connor."

"You can go. But if you aren't back in camp, or if I hear a bad word about the either of you you'll be in for a harsh punishment. The General is a couple camps over. If you hurry you can get to him before lights out."

"Thank you, sir," the privates replied in unison, again saluting.

"Dismissed."

With that, Stuart was gone, and so were Leo and O'Connor. They moved faster, knowing Stuart wasn't one for empty threats. At the third camp over, Leo approached another private.

"General Jackson here?" he asked. The private nodded and pointed to the largest fire, around which a General and his staff were seated, the staff laughing with each other as the general watched on solemnly, smiling now and again. He sat ramrod straight, and seemed like he was born to be solemn all his life. When he smiled or barked out a laugh, the action seemed forced and awkward. Leo didn't see anything wrong with him as they moved a little closer. If anything, he could practically feel the authority wafting off the man. But O'Connor wasn't impressed.

"Huh," he scoffed. "All this yammer, and the man's just made o' flesh and bone like the rest of us. Don't see what's so special 'bout him."

The private Leo had asked laughed once, having followed them over. "General Jackson? Yeah, he don't seem like much. Till he's on the field that is. The man'll look Death straight in the face, shake hands with him, and continue on like he'd shook hands with a kid. Ain't afraid o' nothin'."

Leo was about to say something in return when the general sensed their gaze, and looked directly at the three privates. They froze, trying to look away, and failing. After a moment of tense awkwardness between the three, General Jackson's attention turned back to one of his staff members. The three men all let out a breath they didn't know they'd been holding, and O'Connor turned to the private.

"What's your name, mate?"

"Walters. Fred Walters. You?"

"O'Connor, and me friend, Lee Brown."

The three shook hands, and Walters offered them a smoke. Leo declined politely, but O'Connor agreed, and followed Walters back to his fire. Leo continued back to camp alone. He'd gotten out of his camp, and that's all that really mattered. Seeing General Jackson was a plus, too. But Leo supposed if he were meant to know Jackson by anything but a name, it'd happen; for now, he was a lowly private who was due back to camp. O'Connor would find his way back later.

* * *

Raphael growled as he threw down the newspaper. Rebellion. War. Bull Run. Anger surged through him as he paced the small parlor of his house. Elve-Anna was tending to their youngest son, Samuel, who had fallen ill a week before. Finding that his rage couldn't be contained in his small house, Raph stormed out the door and to the barn, saddling a bay stallion and speeding away from the small stead.

The Rebels had won. They'd _won! _How was it possible that such a rag tag group of illiterate, inbred, _bastards_ send the Union army all the way back to Washington?! The newspaper spoke of a General Jackson, without whom, the battle would have been a victory. Raphael snarled, determined now to join and fight. It also told of a brave group of New Yorkers, who were pushed back by the Confederate demons. The war had gotten personal.

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_**A/N: Well, I admit. This chapter is a bit shorter than the others. I feel I should have gone into more detail of the battle, or spent more time with Raph, but he'll have his time. We saw Jackson in this chapter ^_^ Jackson is my second favorite. Because he's cooooooooool. And... Manly, and stuff... AND HE'S SO FREAKIN' EPIC!**_

_**Anywho, Company D of the First Virginia was mostly from Clarke County, which (and correct me if I'm wrong), is near to Frederick County, and that's where Winchester is. Yes? In real life, Company D was later transferred to the 6th VA, but since this is fiction, I'm going to keep them with the first. Because I don't feel like looking up the 6th. I might later... I still have until September (in the story, not real life) to decide whether or not I want to keep with history or not. **__**There was also a diary entry in this chapter, and it was O'Connor's. I'll be including little bits like this now and again. **_

_**Well, guys, tell me what you think of everything so far- I like to hear your thoughts. The next chapter will be up when I finish writing it (within a few days).**_


	5. Savourneen Deelish

_**A/N: I regret to tell you that this chapter is waaaay too short. But all will be explained in the Author's Note at the bottom. As always, thanks to my reviewers, favoriters, and suscribers.**_

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**Chapter Five: Savourneen Deelish**

Raphael stared into burning honey eyes, the scowl that seemed permanently fixed on a hard face. Dark eyebrows were furrowed down towards those brown orbs angrily, and auburn hair fell on the lightly tanned skin. A few freckles appeared on a Greek nose, and dark stubble started to appear on a strong jaw. Raph's scowl momentarily disappeared as a kind face appeared beside his in the mirror. He turned, and allowed Elve-Anna to brush imaginary lint off his crisp, new blue uniform. A single tear rolled down her face as in her mind's eyes the uniform became dull, frayed, muddied, and stained with blood. It certainly wouldn't last long... Not if its wearer was such a fierce fighter as his brothers claimed. No, it'd be ripped apart by lead balls, sliced through by all manner of knives and swords. More tears followed a silent course down her troubled face, and Raphael wiped them away carefully with a calloused thumb.

A knock on the door revealed his two brothers, dressed similarly in Union blue uniforms. Both nodded at Elve-Anna solemnly, and waited for their eldest to make his goodbyes. Raphael embraced his wife strongly, kissing her on the hair, and turned to each of his sons, giving each a stout pat on a shoulder and shake of the hand, fighting back his own tears as he told them to keep their mother safe. The soldier then turned, and without another word followed his brothers to their horses.

Don's palomino mare, Mikey's bay gelding, and Raphael's fiery stallion were all tied to a post, looking expectantly at their riders. Each man mounted, gave a solemn wave to the woman and three sons, and loped away. With a single tear, Raphael spurred his stallion into a gallop with a shout, and his younger brothers joined in. The ringing chorus was soon to be the answering call to the mighty Rebel Yell.

Behind, at the house, Elve-Anna slid to her knees, head buried in her hands as she lost composure and sobbed loudly to the world. Her tears quickened at the ringing of the men's yells, and she stood shakily with her sons' help to enter the lonely house.

There were grumblings of the men of the 14th Brooklyn (Infantry). As a militia unit, the regular army didn't quite see them fit enough for war. They could be training for months, without a taste of battle. For Donatello and Michelangelo, this was fine. The two youngest brothers weren't fighters at heart. They just wanted to keep their brother safe, and to keep their families safe in the case of a Southern invasion (which Donatello seriously doubted). Sending their horses home by way of a young boy, they set about their daily drills and settled into camp life easily. Already their commander was praising them for their grit and endurance. They would be more than a match for the rebels.

* * *

In the year of 1861, after that first bloody battle at Manassas, General George McClellan was appointed the first commander of the Union force. Six days later a soon to be known (and hated by Southerners) Ulysses S. Grant was promoted to Brigadier General. September was marked by multiple small skirmishes and battles, including one at Papinsville, Missouri, the Federal seizing of Paducah, Kentucky, an engagement at Carnifex Ferry, Virginia. and the siege of Lexington, Missouri which ended eight days later with a Union surrender. October held a battle at Ball's Bluff, Virginia, a small Confederate victory that would haunt the Union for the rest of the war for the bloody way the Southerners gained it; causing the Union resistance to crumble, and then driving them over the bluff and into the Potomac River, where many lost their lives to the swirling waters.

All four wives of all four brothers strained their eyes, reading every line of the newspaper articles thoroughly, trying to find any mention of their wayward men. The papers often listed the names of the dead, wounded, and missing soldiers, articles that brought more than one lonely wife to her knees in tears. But so far the newspapers had not betrayed the Hamato women.

Margaret, spending lonely days at George Nells's home, spent most of her time outside with Mrs. Nells. Each sat in an old wood rocking chair, sewing and chatting amicably as they watched the horizon for any return of their husbands.

The evening of October 21st, they witnessed a line of wounded, exhausted men who'd fought at Ball's Bluff near Leesburg the day before. The two women were aghast to see a young Confederate boy (scarcely 17 years of age), stumbling deliriously using his rifle as a crutch, his right leg completely gone; a bloody stump ending where his knee should have been. They were implored by the soldiers to offer food and a day's rest, treatment for the wounded. Knowing that somewhere their wives were probably worrying to death or sobbing over some newspaper in their snug little homes, and knowing that if those others were faced with this situation (but Leonardo and George being the wounded in need), that Margaret and Mrs. Nells would wish the same, Margaret immediately set about making the soldiers comfortable in the Nells's large barn. The worst off were tended to first by her and Jesse, while Mrs. Nells prepared a meal for the handful of ragged men.

"God bless you, ma'am," whispered the one-legged boy as she dressed his stump. The pain and sadness in his young voice brought tears to her eyes as she worked, and she paused a moment, resting a bloody palm on his cheek fondly and let the tears course down her cheeks.

The boy was the worst of them, and after Margaret granted what little care she could to every wounded soldier, she returned to his side with a warm chicken soup that Mrs. Nells had already dished out to the others. She gently pulled him to a sitting position against a stout beam and took spoonful after spoonful to the boy's mouth. A good deal of it dripped down his chin and formed a wet stain on the front of his already filthy shirt, but Margaret liked to think she got enough down him to warm his soul just enough for him to stay alive for a little while longer.

Coughing, she watched him weakly reach for an inner pocket in his coat, and pull out a small, battered envelope. The boy gave the barest of smiles and opened his mouth to speak, but the sound cam out a loud moan as a soldier to his left accidentally strayed a hand to his side, where he'd taken a shallow slash from a saber. The soldier apologized drowsily and rolled over, too sick to care much.

"Get this to my Polly," the boy whispered after a moment, his voice cracking. His hand shook terribly as he held the envelope out to Margaret. "Please, ma'am, I beg of you."

"Of course," Margaret whispered back, taking the letter gently from his pallid fingers. She realized the boy didn't have much longer, and tears again welled in her eyes.

"An' bury me proper, ma'am, I beseech you," he moaned, face contorting in pain and despair as he cried shamelessly. "Wid' a headstone an' all, please ma'am."

Margaret nodded, not trusting her voice. She hoped the boy saw. Then realizing she didn't know the boy's name to scratch it on whatever she could use as a stone, she spoke in a trembling voice. "What's your name?"

"Luke. Luke Hayes," came the deep voice of a soldier behind her.

Luke sobbed loudly in anguish, his tears washing away grime and blood to reveal the unearthly pallor of his face. The battle had been a good twenty miles away, and these soldiers had most likely been on their way to a hospital in Winchester, or to their homes for a short furlough while they healed. The boy had lost a lot of blood on the way.

"Mother, oh mother," Luke wailed, clenching his eyes shut his voice quieted to a whisper. "Hold me, mama. Make it all go away."

With a sob, Margaret embraced the dying boy, clutching the fabric on the back of his coat. He cried into her hair for a long while, his breathing getting slower and slower as time passed. Margaret rocked him back and forth, humming an old Irish tune and stroking his hair. Soon enough the boy's breath hitched mid sob, and he didn't gasp for another. Margaret continued to rock him, still humming the mournful air. A soldier who knew it and was in relatively good condition picked up on the words as he watched the affair with glistening eyes.

"_Oh! the moment was sad when my love and I parted_

_**Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge**__!_

_As I kissed off her tears, I was nigh broken-hearted!_

_**Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge**__!_

_Wan was her cheek which lay on my shoulder_

_Damp was her hand, no marble was colder,_

_I felt again I should never behold her,_

_**Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge**__!"_

A few other men picked up on the short refrain as the soldier continued the song, his voice harsh and ragged, but soothing to the traumatized woman.

_"When the word of command put our men into motion._

_**Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge**__!_

_I buckled on my knapsack to cross the wide ocean,_

_**Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge**__!_

_Brisk were our troops, all roaring like thunder,_

_Pleased with the voyage, impatient with plunder,_

_My bosom with grief was almost torn asunder,_

_**Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge**__!"_

The soldier stood and limped over to Margaret, gently untangling Luke from her arms and laying him gently on his back, closing the boy's half-lidded eyes as he did so.

"_Long I fought for my country, far, far from my true love._

_**Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge**__!_

_All my pay and my booty I hoarded for you love._

_**Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge**__!_

_Peace was proclaimed, escape from the slaughter,_

_Landed at home, my sweet girl I sought her;_

_But sorrow, alas! To the cold grave had brought her,_

_**Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge**__!"_

Patting Margaret's back, he helped her to stand, and placed his large hands on her shoulders. Margaret looked deep into the man's green eyes and gasped, her arms instantly wrapping around him and hands clasping behind his back. He smiled and squeezed her gently.

"Good tae see you, little sister," he whispered, Irish brogue thick from having been travelling in that country for many years before news of the brewing war brought him home.

* * *

Elve-Anna, Delores, and Mary Anne all stayed in the big house, comforting each other and Splinter with their presence. The children were solemn most hours of the day, their only respite from longing being the few hours they would suddenly leap to their feet and run outside together. Young Samuel had overcome his illness, and joined his brothers and cousins daily at the small pond for games, sometimes swimming, and fishing. They all promised each other that when their fathers returned, they would catch as many fish as they could, and would have a large feast in homecoming.

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_** VERY IMPORTANT! A/N: Okay, I hope you are all sobbing uncontrollably at the poor little soldier boy. I am. On the inside. This chapter was short and nothing much happened in it I'm afraid, but I'm buying time. I have to do waaaay too much research for this to be fiction -_-. But since it is fiction, I'll take advantage of that to change some things to my liking.**_

_**First of all, from what I've learned, the 14th Brooklyn was actually organized long before the war and were actually at Manassas. I think I recall reading that General Jackson dubbed them 'red-legged devils' (they apparently wore red trousers and Union blue coats, I'm assuming). Anyways, I've changed that to where they are just going off to war now, and are wearing your typical Union uniform for simplicity's sake. **_

_**Since I have no idea what all New York did in the war (come on, I'm a thousand or more miles away from the place- do you expect me to know anything about it?), everything about the New York regiments and all are gonna be fabricated. Don't believe any of it.**_

_**There's still a lot I need to look up about Leo's regiment and what I want done with them, so I'm afraid the next chapter will take longer to put up. But bear with me! We'll get through this. Now, if you're reading this, this is the time I REALLY need you to review. Please. Lend me your knowledge if you have any on New York!**_

_**And for the record, the song that the soldier (Margaret's brother :O) sang is a real Irish song, called **__**Savourneen Deelish, written somewhere around 1791. **__**Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge translates to Young Eileen, the faithful sweetheart.**_

_** REVIEW! REVIEW! REVIEW!**_


	6. Raiders and Dreamers

_**A/N: Well, here we are for the sixth chapter of The Brother's War. It's up a little late... Oh well. You shall all live. As always, thanks to my reviewer, favoriters and followers, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!**_

_**HannaCake310: Thank you very much for the critique- they really help. I do tend to you parenthesis a lot... I'll try to tone that down a bit. I am aware of the different names of the battles, and I'm trying to make keep it to where when I'm with the southerners' part of the story I use their terminology, and when I'm with the northerners I use theirs. If I'm not talking about either, you'll find me using the Southern because I'm a Southerner :P I also know how they tended to lie about their age *coughcoughgreatgrandpacough*just kidding on that one. **_

_**Anyways, I'll leave y'all to your chapter.**_

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**Chapter Six: The Raiders and the Dreamers**

It was October 1861, in the Shenandoah Valley of Virginia. Leonardo breathed deeply of the crisp mountain air and sighed longingly to the breeze as he gently nudged his horse to keep moving with the others in the vast column. O'Connor had quickly procured a new mount after his first was shot under him at First Manassas. The Irishman laughed and remarked that maybe this one would last him till Second Manassas. Leo laughed alongside him, neither knowing that there would indeed be a second battle there.

With a thunder of hooves and a cloud of dust, a courier raced by, heading toward the front of the column, to Stuart. The two friends looked at each other and shrugged. Maybe they were in for another battle soon. But O'Connor shook his head as he spoke the thought. If there were to be a coming battle, he'd feel it in his gut and bones. At that moment his stomach grumbled, and both men shared a laugh.

For a few miles the column slowed, before picking up speed again, travelling at the double. By nightfall they travelled forty miles, a record for Leonardo and O'Connor, though for others there had been longer marches. Stuart's staff were gathered round a large fire in the friends' camp, and the pair watched secretively as the officers whispered back and forth to one another, glancing at a few of the men and nodding toward them when their heads were turned away.

"Wonder what they're goin' on about," O'Connor mused, fiddling with the corner of the mustache he'd grown since joining the army.

Leo shrugged, turning a roasting bird on a long, thin stick. He'd been lucky to pick it off earlier, their rations having been cut short from supplies being lost to a rapidly rising river some days before. He caught the gaze of their commanding officer and held it boldly a few moments before the man nodded to one of his superiors and they continued their whispered conversation. The man gestured then at O'Connor, who snuck a scrap of the bird while Leo wasn't looking.

"Now I'm slightly worried," Leo whispered to his friend as Stuart nodded his approval.

O'Connor cast a glance at the gaily dressed commander, as he laughed with his subordinates, fiddling absently at the grand plume on his hat. The Irishman shook his head. "Don't seem to be anything to worry 'bout, Lee. I wouldnae worry yourself about the future too much. Tends to make you dull."

Leo scoffed and rolled his eyes at his friend's philosophy and shared the bird with him and young Mathis.

The next day they were met with a surprise as the next day the regiment was allowed rest, that this was to be the site of their winter camp. Leonardo stood brushing out El Dorado's mane with his own comb when he heard heavy footsteps behind him. He turned, and saluted Captain Hardesty, the captain of his company, as he awaited the inevitable order.

"Private Brown, would you follow me?"

Leo patted his mount's neck as he followed his captain to a large tent, ignoring the horse as it butted him indignantly. To the man's surprise, Marsh held the tent flap open to him before going in himself. Leo's surprise grew to confusion as he found himself in the presence of Lieutenant Colonel Fitzhugh Lee himself. Immediately straightening, Leonardo saluted grandly.

"Yes, sir? Did you send for me?"

"Yes, Private. You see, the captains of each company have been asked to find the best cavalrymen in their command, to be organized into an elite group of scouts and rangers. You, and that Irish friend of yours, O'Connor are of the five Captain Hardesty has selected. Tomorrow you will be up bright and early to report to Colonel Stuart himself, and he will give you orders from there himself."

Leonardo was honored, and shocked, glancing back at his captain in disbelief then searching Colonel Lee's eyes for any hint of a trick. He found none, and stammered out his reply.

"I-It's an honor, gen- I mean, Colonel. Thank you, Captain Hardesty."

Lee chuckled. "You are dismissed, Private."

O'Connor met Leo outside the colonel's tent, a huge grin on his face. He had obviously been told already, which would explain his nonchalance last night, where the man would usually have been dripping curiosity. He clapped Leonardo soundly on the back as they left for ready their horses for the trip ahead.

O'Connor's new mount was a chestnut mare, who had carried a Union sergeant until he was shot from the saddle. The Irishman had caught the frightened beast in the hours after the battle, and after digging through the saddle bags and finding nothing but hard tack, various forms of identification, and a flask of good brandy, claimed the horse his own. The mare didn't seem to know the difference between this new man and the old one, and greeted him warmly every time he passed. She was dubbed Honeysuckle, for the gold-flaxen color of her mane. She was tethered to a long cord with about thirty other horses, Leonardo's El Dorado to her right and a sergeant Carter's bay mare on her left.

The next morning, leading their horses quietly through camp and nodding at various soldiers as they passed, Leonardo and O'Connor made their way to Stuart's tent. Around it milled about a hundred other men, their horses standing at ease beside them as they awaited the Colonel. Just as the friends stopped, the tent flap opened, and the heavily bearded James Ewell Brown Stuart stepped out into the early morning air. 100 men straightened, and saluted, only slightly relaxing when he returned the salute.

"As I'm sure you've been told, you men have been chosen as the best of your companies to gather information on the Yankees. You'll be expected to study and report their movements, where they make their winter camps, and learn the surrounding terrain. This will be conducted with the utmost speed and secrecy, in order for us to deal a crushing blow to their army come spring."

The colonel smiled as the selected men roared in approval, and looked past them as a cavalier reined his horse to a quick halt behind the group. The man climbed down from the saddle and made his way through the throng. He saluted and shook hands with Stuart, then turned to face the group. He was a tall, lean man, with a slight scruffy beard and a grey uniform. Buckled snugly to his waist was a thick leather belt, hosting his pistol, cartridge box, and saber. The buckle itself was made of shiny brass, engraved with the letters CSA, and across one shoulder was the strap of his light haversack. All in all, he cut a gallant figure, and seemed taller than he was on account of the knee-high leather boots.

"Boys, meet your new commander. This man will lead you on your mission. Lieutenant?" Stuart gestured for the mystery man to speak a few words, and he did, calling out over the crowd in a clear voice.

"Well, boys, it'll be a pleasure serving with you. I say we mount up now, and give them Yankees hell!" Stuart smiled as the men sent a roar of approval to the heavens; a sound that echoed through the mountains loudly, spooking up more than one bird.

The lieutenant waved his hat gallantly, trotted quickly through the group to pull himself atop his mount, and led the way gaily out of camp, a smile on his face at the new challenge. One hundred men followed, kicking their horses into a lope to keep up with their new commander.

* * *

_Drill, drill, and more drill,_ Michelangelo thought sorely, as he executed another forward thrust with his bayonet; digging the triangular blade deep into a hay bale, twisting, and ripping out several strands of the unfortunate bale. _The life of a soldier. _They'd been taught to march, to charge, to shoot, to reload, to listen for the bugle, to stab with the bayonet, hand to hand combat- things that Mikey and his brothers had learned long ago. But the way their officers drilled them, they could do every movement in their sleep- and some did, were spotted by sentries, marching in a silent formation. The sleep walkers were usually shoved roughly in the direction of their tents, stumbling over rocks and sticks as they went. Raphael once fired a shot from his pistol in his sleep, clipping a few hairs off a frightened mule's rump, but otherwise causing no more damage. His brothers wouldn't let him forget it either.

"Shot any more muleys today, Raphie?" Mikey would joke from a safe distance.

The hotheaded man would glare at his brother, and reply; "No, but I'm starting to get mighty hungry for a good ass." With a pointed glare at the youngest, he would then set about cleaning his pistol.

That was usually when Mikey made his retreat, hiding behind Donatello, or the closest man he could find and sticking his tongue out at his brother before running off and leaping over whatever was in his way and going off to entertain other men of the regiment. The young blond was loved throughout for his wit and good nature. He had become everyone's baby brother, thought his only blood relations were with two who were virtually unknown by men from other companies. Of course, Don was known by some as an amateur doctor, and Raph gave off a 'stay away from me' vibe, but beyond that they were just a place in formation and a rank.

McClellan, being as slow and cautious as he was, hadn't made much move, and didn't do anything with the 14th Brooklyn. They were practically where they started, but now settled down for the winter. The low valley they were camped in was strewn with small white tents, and at night the glow from their many fires lit up the mountain side. When not drilling, men sang and drank, and danced, cleaned their weapons, made cartridges, whittled, and generally gossiped like old women.

The Hamato brothers stayed close to one another, and wrote letters to their families often. Oftentimes, Donatello would have to bodily hold Raph at a distance when Mike's jokes got too far, but all three of them knew that the hotheaded fellow would never harm any of them. Don, in the somewhat quiet lull after the other men had fallen asleep, would lay awake and wonder where their eldest brother had gotten to. It filled his heart with dread to think that maybe one day, they would find his body torn apart on a battlefield. It was a recurring nightmare the thoughtful man had, and though it wasn't spoken of, it was a nightmare all three shared.

A worse thought than that was the probability they would find him trampled, wrapped in a bloody grey uniform, a torn Confederate flag draped over his still form. The hard wood flag staff still clutched in milk white fingers. Donatello shuddered at the thought. Of course, Leo would never fight for the fall of the Union... Would he? He had been gone for years; there was no telling where he was or what side of the war he was fighting on- if he were fighting at all. Though it was improbable, there was still a chance that his wayward brother had wandered far out of the reaches of the war. A cold pit in his stomach told Donatello otherwise.

Settling himself under a woolen blanket and using his coat for a pillow, Don let sleep take hold of his weary body.

_The scream of shells around the plain seemed to silence as he stared into the familiar golden brown eyes. Heart leaping to his throat, Donatello cried out loudly across the way. He didn't hear him, just kept fighting, beating back blue-coated men with the butt of his rifle, slashing their throats with a short dagger. _

_"Leo!"_

_This time the man heard him, looked up. Everyone around them was still, frozen in their final stances as the brothers' eyes locked. Leo stood, climbed slowly over the wall. Don rushed forward to claim his lost brother, disregarding the color of their uniforms. Leo took up a ready stance, growling. His rifle unloaded, Leo simply had readied himself with his bayonet. Donatello slid to a stop._

_"Leo?"_

_His eyes flicked once._

_"Don't you... Remember me, Leo? Y-You're my brother, Leo."_

_Leonardo seemed to think a moment, and as his eyes roved the stranger's body, they grew dark with hatred. This was no brother of his. His brothers were rugged, some wearing stolen Yankee uniforms. But the buckle. They wore their buckles upside down if they didn't have one inscribed CSA. His brothers knew his name was Lee._

_"Yes, I remember you," Leo said softly, eyes softening a moment and stance relaxing._

_"We missed you so much, Leo!" Don cried, rushing forward again. _

_Leo's eyes again growing dark again, and then blood red before Donatello's eyes. Don heard himself gurgling, felt white hot pain shooting through his body, intensifying when his brother twisted the bayonet cruelly in his body and pushed him roughly off the blade with a foot. Don fell to the ground, eyes wide in shock, pain, and fear as his own blood dripped off the bayonet in thick drops._

_Before darkness claimed his vision, he saw a hole open in his killer's head, those blood red eyes roll back, and saw Leo fall to the ground as Mikey and Raph fussed over him._

Donatello jolted awake, nearly kicking Raphael in the face as he did. The brother slept on as Don huffed breathlessly against the nightmare. Yes... Another dreadful possibility.

* * *

_**A/N: So, the dream and Donatello's musings were just a little insight for you to think about. Don't worry, I don't intend to kill the brothers off (especially not having them kill each other), it's just a few points that scare Donny witless.**_

_**Anyways, anybody care to venture a guess as to who Leo's new commander is? I will say, I gave him his own command and promoted him to Lieutenant earlier than in real life, and this scouting mission thing is completely made up- though if it happened to be real, that'd be great. **_

_**If I forgot to explain anything down here or you have any other questions just review or PM me, I'm going fast because I'm anxious to see this chapter up!**_


	7. New Alliances

_**A/N: So sorry guys, for the late update, but I've been really busy lately. Gonna warn you, this is kinda rushed, and certainly not my best chapter, but bear with me. I'm just trying to get to 1862... Then there'll be more action on both sides. As always, thanks to my reviewers, favoriters, and followers.**_

_**HannahCake310: Just you wait... All shall be revealed~! And thank you for reviewing- I can always count on you!**_

_**Aster Sapphire: Yes, Irish people are cool B) Having the turtles in the Civil War is really fun to write; and Raph is of course the easiest one to stuff into the era. Thanks for the review!**_

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_****_**Chapter 7: New Alliances**

After the initial uproar of a mission, the chosen cavalrymen were silent, eagerly awaiting their orders as they reined into a small clearing. The new commander urged them so silently dismount, and they observed as he picked up each of his horse's hooves and wrapped each individually in a rag. Digging in his saddlebags, he tossed rags to any man who needed them and waited for each man to tie off their last cloth before speaking up in a low tone.

"I believe the colonel made it clear before, but let me restate. This is a mission of _secrecy_. From here on out, no one is to speak above a whisper, unless we are assured to be out of hearing range. The main reason I had you wrap your horses' hooves was so they wouldn't make a sound on any loose rocks. Admittedly, all of us travelling together will cause a bit of a fuss. But with any amount of luck and ingenuity we can muster up we can make anything seem normal; to either army."

O'Connor spoke up as the lieutenant gazed about the group. His voice was low and raspy, his brogue thick in the attempt to keep quiet. "If 'tis no aversion to ye, sir. I'd like tae know the name of my commanding officer."

He gave a low chuckle, and the words that passed his lips would in future months bring a chill to any northerner's spine. "Lieutenant John Singleton Mosby. What do they call you, Private?"

O'Connor grinned. "Cameron O'Connor, sir."

Mosby nodded. "We need an organized unit for this mission to be carried out. I need captains, I need to break you men up into small companies to cover more ground and faster. Are there any captains among you already?"

The men shuffled in uncertainty. Not one of them spoke up. Nodding Mosby thought for a brief moment before speaking again. "I want five groups of twenty men. We'll have a good-old fashioned election here."

Quickly, the men were organized into five groups, and in record time there were five captains; one Andrew Jace, O'Connor, a bold Jesse McMahon, the quick-witted Lance Derrick, and Mosby himself. Mosby quickly directed the captains to where they were needed, and the five groups of twenty- and in one twenty-one -men were galloping silently in their respective directions. Leonardo gave a solemn wave to O'Connor as he passed, going east. They would see each other again when they were back with Stuart. But for now, Leo reined his horse to face north and followed close behind Mosby.

When Mosby said silence, he meant silence. There was no singing, no laughing, no jesting on the narrow paths winding through the valley. Leonardo quickly found himself missing the old camp life, and every night he found himself silently breathing the tunes to some of his favorite old songs that had always been so joyously sung in Stuart's camp. Days were long and hard, riding in utter silence for miles; never unsaddling their horses, sleeping at their feet, feeding the creatures from their hands, all so that they could gallop away on a moment's notice. Mosby was a hard taskmaster, but not unlikable. He was fair to his men, and could easily sate the rowdy ones with a race or a fox chase. More than once they narrowly missed being spotted by federal scouts or pickets, silently making their escape like wraiths in the winter night. Being as small a force as they were, it was easy to disappear. Any sign of them left was mistaken for a small scouting/foraging party, and no men from either army ever questioned a thing.

Two months went by, with them the first winter snow, and the five small detachments met again in the same open clearing they parted ways in. O'Connor strode up to his friend and clapped him soundly across the back. Both men had grown thin, their coat sleeves and trouser legs growing too short. They looked like gangly teenage boys, fresh out of a growth spurt with no new clothes. Faces gaunt and unshaven, eyes hollow but still bright with youth, they looked upon each other like brothers.

"Good to see you sound, Lee. Bit thinner than I remember ye, but that'll change once we hit camp again," O'Connor smiled, eyes again travelling his friend to make sure he was indeed sound.

"Same to you, pal," Leo laughed. "Same to you."

"How's it been ridin' with our dear lieutenant?"

Leo just shook his head and rubbed his empty belly. "Let's just say I'll be glad to get back to camp."

O'Connor made his excuses, knowing he had to report to Mosby.

The noise of Stuart's camp had never been so welcome to the hundred and one returning cavalrymen. Leonardo planned nothing shy of collapsing at the first vacant tent he found, handing his horse off to Mathis, who came to welcome he and O'Connor 'home'. But Mosby took he, O'Connor, a select other few of the five teams, and the other elected captains to Stuart.

They had served well the two months, and Mosby was well pleased with them. He proposed potential promotions for these men, and a future place in the company he hoped to organize in order to cause trouble for the Union army once fighting resumed in full the next spring. Stuart liked the idea of a company of raiders. Mosby had now nine captains at his disposal, and Stuart was organizing him some more men to command.

* * *

Winter was uncomfortable for the Hamato women. The thought of their husbands starving and frostbitten, curled in the deep snowdrifts sent tremors of uneasiness down their spines. They received letters infrequently, and the battered state of the simple pages did nothing to ease their worry. On the Southern side, Leonardo had long since ran out of whatever paper he'd had with him on leaving for his company. The four letters she had received in the last two months were hastily scribbled on scraps of paper from old books he somehow managed to find.

For the three wives in New York, things were hardly better. Raphael rarely wrote, and when he did it was just a few short sentences on a scrap of a flyer from somewhere. Donatello would write long letters, addressing as many of the family as he could in a single piece of paper. His letters, when they were received, were stained and frayed at the edges, crumpled mulitple times, and folded unevenly and hastily shoved into a coffee stained envelope.

Michelangelo was no better than Raph, but that was simply due to his energetic nature. he couldn't sit still long enough to scribble more than a few hasty words of love and assurance before tossing the paper at Donny and jumping to his feet. The youngest of the clan was often chosen to scout around the camp, being light on his feet and small enough to hide and watch. But nothing ever disturbed the northern camp. Any rebel forces were too far south to bother them, which vexed Raphael to no end. Cautious generals refused to move them any further south until everything was clear and they could march swiftly down to strike the rebels.

* * *

The cavalry camp was loud and happy, supplies having reached them in the two months that the detachment was away. More regiments had joined the camp, from different states. Leonardo, against his will, found himself laughing and clapping, his voice joining the others in the chorus of the Bonnie Blue Flag. O'Connor and Mathis were dancing in the center of the ring they had gathered in, with a few other men from different regiments. Everyone laughed and smiled as they danced comically, the song starting completely over for the third time.

As the song ran its course, men from each state gave a loud cheer when their homeland was mentioned. The majority of them were Virginians, joined by a decent sized group of Tennesseeans, and North and South Carolinians. Fewer were the Georgians, Floridians, and Mississippians. The number of men dwindled after that, the fewest number being Texans- but what few there were made sure their voices were heard. One of the few Texans around their fire pulled a beautifully made fiddle seemingly out of nowhere winked at O'Connor as he sat down after the song.

Another Texan sneered. "Don't you start, Peaches. You ain't no good with that thing anyways."

'Peaches' glared hard at the man as he continued his rant. "Go back home, get your frilly skirts on and get on with your life, woman."

"I ain't no damned woman!"

O'Connor slid a bit away from the pair to stay out of their argument. None of the other men seemed to notice it, and kept singing. 'Peaches' _was _awfully small, his voice high-pitched for a man. In the wrong light, someone could make the mistake. But it was clear that this other man was just setting him up for a fight.

'Peaches' stood from his place and growled low in his throat before turning on his heel and stomping off to where his horse was tethered. The man he'd argued with sent a smirk in O'Connor's direction and joined everyone else in a cheer for another song. The Irishman stood and walked over to where 'Peaches' had gone off to, curious about the young man.

"... But honestly! Ugh, why can't they just shut up and mind their own, Martin?!"

The kid didn't hear him approach, and continued his conversation, voice faltering as he did.

"Gah! He'll regret that some day, Martin. He will."

At first O'Connor suspected he was talking to his horse. But as he listened, he saw a dark form move on the boy's shoulder. It was a rat.

"Ye know there's a rat on your shoulder," O'Connor commented.

'Peaches' spun around, shocked, and backed into his horse. Then the startled expression on his face turned to anger. Even the rodent on his shoulder seemed to bristle.

"He ain't no rat, he's a mouse. And he ain't eatin' your rations, so leave 'im be," he growled.

"What's your name, son?" O'Connor asked, scratching his chin under his short beard.

"Jake Walker, of Weatherford."

The Irishman nodded and glanced at the boy's pet. "An' your mouse is called Martin, I take it?"

Jake nodded shortly, carding his fingers through his horse's mane.

"C'mon lad. Join my messmates an' I for a drink an' we can swap tales. Sound good?"

"I'd rather eat with my horse," Jake spat coldly.

O'Connor raised a brow, unphased by the boy's attitude. Ten minutes later he was sitting cross-legged outside O'Connor's camp, listening to the Irishman with Leo and Mathis.

"... And the ol' hag just decided to drop me drawers right there in the middle o' the town! Whipped me ten or fifteen times, she did, with everyone a-watchin' and a-laughin' at this poor liddle lad," O'Connor despaired, gesturing widely with his hands.

Leo, Mathis, and Jake laughed heartily, the 'new recruit' of the group of friends choking on a swig of whiskey. Mathis, who was roaring drunk- and had been since noon -clapped the boy soundly on the back, snorting in his laughter. Jake hiccuped, staring almost cross-eyed around at the three men; his new friends.

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_**A/N: Well guys? What do you think? I promise, once we get back into the fighting, everything will be better, but for now I'm just coaxing along. I introduced Jake in this chapter, and he'll be appearing in several others. I'm planning a sort of companion piece in a different fandom for him- his story through all this, and I'm just seeing how I want to work with him. Be sure to review with any questions or comments or whatever so I have the will to right more.**_


	8. Home

_**A/N: Here's chapter 8 up, a domestic chapter, before we go on to more action. Because, thank God, it's 1862 now! Hoo-rah.**_

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**Chapter 8: Home**

His family danced before his eyes, happy and united. Eight small children ran and played happily on the front lawn, their youthful cheeks flushed red from excitement and exertion. Two women talked and sewed, two more in the separate kitchen cooking dinner. His brothers sat on the rails of a small corral, betting on their best horses. Michelangelo was bright as ever, and seemed to glow with joy. He had a bit of a gut, but if Mary Anne's cooking was as good as he remembered, that was acceptable. Donatello was still the quiet lad he always was, his cheeks a bit paler in contrast to the youngest. His brown eyes danced with mirth as he listened in on the conversation. Raphael. he was the same as he ever was. The same as he ever would be. Dark looking, always ready with a sarcastic remark. He slapped Mikey in a brotherly manner as the kid said something stupid.

Leonardo seemed to step out of himself, if that were possible, and a shade of himself stood staring at the real thing. Could this be a real thing? Leo had always been shorter than Raph, but his eyes and aura demanded respect and radiated authority. His smile wasn't as easy as Donny's, nowhere close to as inviting as Michelangelo's, but still less intimidating than Raphael's. He leaned against a post, arm stretched out across it and feet put far out to one side. Michelangelo sat on the rail a few inches away, balancing expertly with both legs kicked up to one side of his body, his right hand a hairs breadth from Leonardo's. Donatello stood inside the corral, in between the two- one foot rested on the bottom rail of the fence. Raphael was a distance from Leonardo's left, dark eyes narrowed toward the eldest as he spoke.

Leonardo couldn't hear the words spoken as the... Shade... or whatever he was. He left his brothers talking, and walked toward the children. They didn't see him, immersed in their game as they were. Neither did they see two other shades as they appeared, both spitting images of Leonardo himself. The boys were twins, and watched the other children with mixed emotions. They seemed a bit troubled at first, at being ignored by the others, but they soon shrugged it off and played their own game. Leo's shade looked over to the big house, where he saw his wife come out of the main door. She seemed troubled for a moment, clutching her stomach uncomfortably. She became a shade. The twins' shades faded, the remnants of them seeming to withdraw into Margaret. The woman's face contorted in fear all of a sudden, and she too disappeared- her remnants blown southward by a spine chilling breeze. Leo's shade turned and watched as the flesh and blood Leonardo slowly disappeared. Raphael's already dark expression grew stormy and he growled, mounting a solid black horse and riding south. Donatello's grew worried, and he hoisted himself atop a second midnight creature. Mikey looked afraid, the whites of his eyes showing more as his eyes widened, and a third horse appeared from nowhere. The creature carried his brother away swift as the wind, and the air about the big house grew tense and thick. The children all collapsed to their knees, crying or coughing horribly. Leo saw the remaining three wives, their faces gaunt and pale, worry etching their features as they worked together on a strange pallid sheet. Four forms materialized under the shroud, and the Shade Leonardo lifted it slowly to reveal the cold, white faces of he and his brothers. Their eyes were closed, faces peaceful despite their inhuman color. As one, Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael's blue-tinged lips started to move, breathing out a wisp of a word. The wives picked up the mantra, chanting quietly and staring at Leo's shade.

"Where'd you go?"

"Why'd you leave us?"

"Leo, we need you."

The brothers' eyes opened and they sat up stiffly, unnaturally, and they stared at him too as they chanted over and over again. Leo backed away slowly, only to be met with eight chanting children. Panic welled in him as the large family continued to chant, getting up to their feet and walking slowly toward him. Leo turned, and ran out of the house, passing through the children's bodies. The chant seemed to grow louder and louder until it was all he could hear, resounding eerily in his ears, booming in his thoughts. A horse white as death galloped up to meet him, and the shade Leonardo took advantage of his retreat. Hoisting himself high on the deathly stallion, he shivered at the stone-cold feel of the creature between his legs.

Kicking it into a gallop, he leaned forward toward the horse's head and lowered himself as far as he could, willing the horse to travel faster. He couldn't escape the ringing chants in his ears, no matter how fast the creature ran. The scenery turned to a wasteland, ravaged by war. In ten minutes they had traveled from New York to Virginia. Fear still racing through his body, Leo reined the horse toward his home. When the cottage was in view he leapt from the still running horse, not heeding as it disappeared, and shot through the doorway. His instincts screamed at him to leave, to turn and run out the door. But he couldn't tear his eyes away from the picture before him. His wife. His beautiful, beloved wife, smiling broadly as she cuddled infant twins. The smile didn't leave her face as she turned to face him, and his fear intensified as she locked eyes with him. This wasn't his wife. Her eyes were dead, unseeing. The smile was practically stitched to her face. It refused to disappear, even for the briefest of seconds.

"We had some visitors today, Leo," she said, voice eerily emotionless.

Heavy footsteps sounded behind him. Leo turned to see his brothers, angry now.

"You left us."

"We needed you."

"You betrayed us."

Leo backed away slowly as they advanced, raising his shaking hands as daggers appeared in their hands.

As they lunged, Leonardo flinched awake, breathing heavily and covered in a sheen of sweat. He leaned back into the pillow slowly, relishing the feel of a bed after sleeping on the cold ground for so long. Feeling the warmth at his side, he pulled his wife closer to him, and sought comfort in her presence. Guilt washed over him. He had left his brothers. He had deserted them. And now... Now they were probably in a camp somewhere, huddled together to keep warm, all wearing deep blue Union uniforms. While his new grey Confederate uniform was folded, ready to stuff into his saddle bags when he returned to Stuart's cavalry camp in three days.

It was January, and he was on a short furlough. Margaret had leapt to her feet and ran out to meet him when she'd spotted him coming down the road. She had hugged him tight and looked him over frantically through her tears; after finding no serious injuries she had planted light kisses all over his face, fussed with his too-short coat, and scowled at his scruffy beard. At the first break in her fussing he embraced her tightly, twirled her about, and kissed her to silence her girlish giggles.

She and Mrs. Nells prepared him what could only be described as a homecoming feast. They cooked a massive roast, brought out canned corn, green beans, squash, and brussel sprouts, and cooked potatoes at least three different ways. Leonardo felt like his stomach would explode. But compared to their usual rations at the camp, this was heaven in a drafty cabin.

The two women then fussed over his ragged clothes again, and Mrs. Nells pulled out some old clothes of George's that he was welcome to borrow. As his wife set about doing her best to mend his old uniform, Mrs. Nells pulled out a thick, beautifully stitched woolen captain's coat, and a pair of woolen trousers.

"Stuart sent out a dispatch to let us know you'd been promoted," Margaret explained as Leonardo marveled at the crisp new uniform. "And we thought... Well, we thought a captain couldn't look like some mangy old private." The woman laughed a bit at her joke, and ordered Leonardo into the room she was staying in to try it on.

When he returned, Mrs. Nells smoothed the fabric over his shoulders, looked him up and down, and winked.

"Maggie, dear," she said uncertainly. "I think you had better see this. Some Southron captain came along and must'a swapped rags with your dear husband."

"Did he now?" Margaret asked, standing up to observe the man herself.

Leo found himself blushing under their attention as they examined the cut, patted him down, and nodded at each other.

"You had better watch him now, Maggie. Ladies love a man in a clean new uniform. Especially if the cut happens to whisper captain, or major, or any of those other officer types."

Margaret adopted an indignant look. "Well they had better not start liking my old husband! I'd have to follow him back to camp to make sure none of these ladies set their hat to him."

Leo snorted out a short laugh at the thought of his wife riding back to the camp, scolding and glaring at men who were impolite, cooking up giant meals fit for a king, all for some little band of cavalrymen. She'd surely make sure everyone ate proper and washed regularly, and heaven forbid someone not wash behind their ears! Margaret and Mrs. Nells imagined the same thing, and laughed heartily, before conversation started to die down and Mrs. Nells excused herself to go to her room.

When the old woman was out of sight and earshot, Margaret wrapped her arms tight around his neck and started to cry into his throat. It was a wonder she'd held her composure this long, Leo found himself thinking as she whispered her worries into the hollow of his throat. Leo just shook his head at her fears and carried her into her room.

* * *

Splinter was ill. One doctor had said pneumonia, another had said typhoid fever, and both argued with each other like old wives. Neither was doing much to help his condition because both were too busy disproving the other's thoughts to treat their patient. So it was Elve-Anna, Delores, and Mary Anne who sat at his bedside, bathing his brow in cool water and worrying over his haggard form.

He was delirious in his fever, and would mutter something about a woman, something about a son, and something about a death in the family. None of the women knew he was talking about his first wife and Leonardo. He was talking to her, asking her to find Leo there wherever she was, but the woman wouldn't do it; couldn't do it. She couldn't find him because he wasn't in her world. The fact gave Splinter mild comfort, but it still unsettled him to have his eldest son missing.

_Jane had died a week after he was born. He was left with a screaming infant and no way to take care of it. The boy pleaded for his mother, kicked and squalled against his father's hold. Splinter couldn't do anything for him, it seemed. Nothing worked. Nothing... The only thing that kept Leonardo from dying at that young age was the near-ancient milk cow Splinter kept. For the first year of his life he was starving and quite ill. But Splinter couldn't help it. Until Nora Jean. _

_It was just a deal they'd struck. She was widowed, with a growing daughter she couldn't take care of without her husband, and he was a widower who couldn't take care of his tiny son. The daughter succumbed to scarlet fever, and that left Leonardo. He was always sickly; it was a wonder he didn't catch the fever that laid his step-sister low. But he survived, miraculously, to see his new brothers. Donatello and Raphael were strong, healthy. They still had their mother. They were a year old when Nora died, and again Splinter struck a deal with a widow. He wanted to keep his sons alive. All he wanted was for his sons to __**stay alive**__. Loss had never set right with him. And it wouldn't now._

_Leonardo was four when again he was a new brother. Michelangelo would be the last. _

_Slowly, as he aged, Leonardo became stronger and stronger. He was first appointed the leader of their tiny group at eight years old, when Michelangelo got stuck in a tree, and they had to work together to wiggle him out. By the time they were teenagers, they were inseparable, always led by their bold eldest brother. Raphael resented this some times, and they fought often, but they were still brothers._

_After Mexico, Leonardo started to see things different. They had stayed together throughout the war, but the eldest must have seen something far more unsettling than the others. From then on, he would order his brothers always stay a few paces away when they were hunting. They couldn't run and tussle together- not too close. Eventually it started eating Leonardo alive and he confided in Splinter just before he disappeared._

_"There were four of them, Father," he whispered one evening while his brothers were asleep. "Brothers, like us. They stuck together and watched each others' backs when the fighting got thick. Just like we do. Artillery opened up on them. All four were ripped apart. And I just keep thinking...I just keep... What did their mother do when she was told? What would you do if you lost all four of us in the same day?..."_

_Splinter didn't get a chance to ease his son's spirits, for he stood then and walked quickly to his room. The next day he was gone, a letter on his bed claiming he went to West Point to get a better education. They never received any other letters from him, never heard of or from him again, and never knew where he truly went._

"Find him," Splinter whispered. "Find my son."

The women weren't in there to hear him. They had left him to rest, alone. Splinter felt the bed sink in two places around him, and continued.

"Find Leonardo," he whispered.

Blue eyes met honey orbs in a solemn nod, and all day the mothers started to wonder what happened to some apples they'd set on the counter, blankets they knew they had folded and put up, and all manner of other items. They never questioned anything. But when they put their children to bed in the big house, they couldn't help but notice how Jane Grace and James's pillows seemed lumpier than they usually were.

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**_A/N: Well, I think this is the longest chapter I've put up so far. Hope you enjoyed it. REVIEW!_**

**_Oh, and I hope you can tell what Jane Grace and James are about to get themselves into. And if Leo's dream sequence confused you at all, just reread it really close. And no, Leo and Margaret have no children. Yet. I know you can't tell, but I waited about three minutes before I typed that 'yet'._**


	9. Quests

_**A/N: Chapter nine already! I tell you, it's great to be on summer vacation. All the time in the world to write and read and die of boredom. As always, thanks to my reviewers, favoriters and followers.**_

_**HannahCake310: Have you heard the story about Mosby's raid on General Stoughton's camp outside at Fairfax County Courthouse? That story got me hooked! As far as my writing goes I thank you for the complement- I think that if this story is basically in the view of the 'turtles' in the war, I should make references only to that era and before, otherwise they'd practically be seeing the future.**_

_**Jane Grace is Mikey and Mary Anne's daughter, and they also have her sister Mary Belle. James, Samuel, and William Barret all belong to Raph and Elve-Anna. Lenore, Othello, and Annabelle Lee are all Donny and Delores's brood.**_

_**I Love Kittens too: Thanks for your reviews! They mean a lot. As for being reunited, of course you'll have to keep reading to find out!**_

_**Without further adieu, I leave you to your story.**_

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Quests and Promises**

Elve-Anna awoke the next morning to a shrill wail. Leaping from her bed in a spare room of the big house, she quickly pulled a robe over her shift and rushed out the door to the source of the screams. In the parlor, Delores held a shaking Mary Anne gently, silent tears coursing down her face as she comforted her sobbing sister-in-law.

"What happened?" Elve-Anna asked quickly. "Was it Splinter?"

Mary Anne shook her head and looked up at the older woman. "Jane and James are gone!"

Elve-Anna felt her heart stop. In a moment she was on her knees, fear gripping her with icy claws. Her son... Her oldest son was-was... She couldn't bear the thought. Delores and Mary Anne were helping her up, each trying to console the other at the loss of the two children. The other six appeared then, worried for their lost cousin/sibling.

"William, Samuel!" Elve-Anna barked through her tears. "Did you notice your brother leave?"

The two boys shook their heads. William spoke up. "I heard him whispering about Uncle Leo, and he was getting stuff, but I didn't know he would leave!"

"Why didn't you tell anyone, William Barret Hamato?!"

His mother was angry, her eyes hard as she stared her middle son down. WIlliam cringed under her stern glare. "I-I I didn't know..."

The tiny protest was almost lost on the grieving mother's ears, and she let it slide as she buried her face in her hands. Delores gently asked the other children if they'd noticed anything strange. Mary Anne didn't speak anymore, just sobbed and wailed her sadness to the heavens. Jane Grace's sister Mary Belle and Donatello's only son Othello both confessed to seeing the missing children gather supplies for some unknown adventure.

"But when we asked," Mary Belle piped up, "they wouldn't tell us. They said it was a secret mission Grandpa Splinter sent them on."

The three women's heads snapped toward the girl. "Splinter?"

She nodded, cowering slightly under the three strong gazes. Immediately, Delores went to Splinter's chamber to question him, while Elve-Anna picked up on the interrogation. The children had taken three days' worth of clothes, needles and thread, as much food as they could stuff in the two haversacks between them, and some blankets. Shy Annabelle Lee then admitted to seeing them put a bridle on Grady, an old draft horse that the children coveted. Mary Anne looked up. If they took Grady, they would never be found.

The woman ran out of the house, not caring that she was dressed only in her robe, and threw the barn doors open. Tania, Darius, Ace, Lucifer... Grady's stall was empty. They were gone. They were truly, truly gone... Mary Anne trudged back to the house in a daze. She lost her daughter. Elvie lost her son. She had to know what put them in the mind to run away. She had to talk to Splinter.

But as she entered the house, Delores shook her head. Splinter denied ever having seen the children yesterday, let alone sending them off on some mission. Without one of the men around, it would be nearly impossible for the children to be found. None of the women could track them down, even if they were on a horse as slow as Grady.

"I have to send a letter... Have to tell them..." Mary Anne despaired, pacing anxiously.

William looked up from the settee where he and the other children had been sat. "What if you sent a letter to Uncle Leo?"

His mother shook her head. "No, Will, we don't know where he is. It wouldn't work."

The boy looked dejected, and didn't speak any more as his mother and aunts scrambled for paper and pen to write to his father and uncles.

* * *

Raphael had just released Michelangelo from a 'friendly' choke hold when Donatello came up, worry etched on his features. The hot-tempered man slapped his careless youngest brother on the back of the head lightly as Don strode up. He smiled at his brother, wondering what the smart kid was worrying about. There was nothing to worry about! They were moving out once the snow thawed, and from then on it would be the three of them against a ragged band of traitors! How bad could it be?

"A letter from the girls," Don said shortly, sitting by his two brothers. "Marked 'expedite'."

The other two men frowned. They knew from experience that if the girls marked something for a speedy delivery, it was important. And usually bad. Don opened the letter quickly, knowing he had his brothers' attention. Scanning it briefly, he felt a heavy stone settle in his stomach. Raphael noticed his eyes widen, saw his Adam's apple bob in a heavy gulp.

"What's it say?" he asked, trying to keep the worry out of his voice.

Don read the letter out loud, voice wavering slightly.

"_We are sorry this letter had to come with horrible news. Splinter has been terribly ill for the past few days, and in his delirium must have said something the children deemed an order. Our dear little Jane Grace, and our sweet James have run away- to find Leonardo. They left early this morning from what we can tell, on Grady. We cannot follow them. The snow fell last night and wiped away their trail. Please, if it is possible, go in search of them. We think they'll be going west to get out of the state, then south. They must pass somewhere near your encampment on the way, if they are going south like we believe. Please, find them before they reach the fighting. Don't let the children witness the horrors of the battlefields._

_Please, keep our children safe,_

_Your loving wives,_

_Mary Anne, Delores, and Elve-Anna Hamato."_

Raphael was first to tear the paper out of Don's shaking hands, and read the letter over himself. It was Elve-Anna's script, he knew. There were several tear stains on the battered slip of paper, and in multiple places, the woman's bold script turned shaky in her grief. Michelangelo gently took it and read for himself, tears welling in his eyes. Anger flooded Raphael's senses, and he stormed away from their tent. Mikey just shook his head, looking up at his remaining brother with a whispered 'why?'.Don shook his head sadly, and enveloped Mikey in a comforting hug. The smaller man buried his head in his brother's chest, sorrow overwhelming the usually so cheerful Hamato brother.

"We'll find them, Mikey," Don whispered. "We'll find them."

* * *

"Where are we now, Jimmy?"

James sighed, looking around at the snowy trees. He didn't really know anything, aside from the fact that they were going west. It shouldn't take them too long to get out of the state... He gently pulled old Grady's reins, causing the massive creature to slowly stop walking and bend his head to nose through the snow in search of any early grasses. James then pulled from the deep pocket of his trousers a large map of New York and the surrounding states. Jane looked over his shoulder at the map as he explained.

"Here's Brooklyn," he said, pointing. " We started out here." His finger moved a smidgen to the west. "So all we have to do is go west out of the state, then south. In every town we go through, we'll ask for Uncle Leo. He can't be that hard to find."

Jane nodded. It was a good plan. How far could he have gone anyways? But then she frowned. "How do we know he left New York?"

James groaned. "If he was still in New York, he'd have come back home, duh!"

Jane immediately felt foolish, and nodded quietly. Her cousin gently folded the map back up and stuffed it back into his pocket. Picking up Grady's reins, James clicked his tongue and guided the horse through the trees, always keeping his face toward the setting sun. They had been travelling for three days at a slow pace, James being surprisingly good at judging time and direction based on the sun. Neither knew what troubles they were putting their mothers and aunts through, and neither knew how big states actually were. They didn't have a clue where Leonardo would be, or if he would even remember them after the years he had been away. Or if they would remember him when they saw him. For as many uncertainties there were in their near future, the two children were extremely optimistic. All they had to do after all was find their Uncle Leo and get him back to Splinter so he would get better.

* * *

"When did you say Lee would get back, O'Connor?" Mathis asked, talking around a cedar toothpick he'd whittled down.

Taking a puff off his pipe, O'Connor rolled his eyes. "For the fifth time, Mathis. He's due back tomorrow. Ugh, sometimes I think ye're the most ignorant, addlebrained liddle-"

The Irishman was cut off when a courier bearing the flag of the Confederacy came galloping into camp, hollering joyfully as he did so. Stuart, on hearing the commotion, strode out of his tent. The courier saluted him and jumped off his horse, shaking his hand as he exclaimed;

"We have a president, boys!"

There was a cheer from those who heard.

"Well, who the hell is it?" asked one in a surly tone as he scratched behind an ear.

"Why, none other than Ol' Jeff Davis!" the courier called back, so that everyone could hear.

A cheer went up among the men, and the horseman leapt into the saddle again to spread the news further. O'Connor chuckled, seeing how the men had been uplifted. If their budding country had a president, it would last significantly longer. They might even win this war. The Irishman scoffed. Of course they would win. They had to win.

O'Connor's gaze travelled through the camps, at the tents set up in neat rows amongst the trees. Most of the men were out and about, drilling, talking, eating, or singing. They had wives and families at home, most of them. The younger boys had mothers waiting anxiously for their return. He himself had a wife and a wee daughter waiting for him. None of the others knew, except for Lee, and he didn't know much.

The last he saw the girls, his daughter Erin was sick with a cold. The brawny Irishman sniffed quietly at the memory, rubbing his chest absently.

_"Da?" _

_He looked down into the sad green eyes of the little one. She clutched her doll tightly to her chest and sniffled, her cheeks flushed with fever. O'Connor kneeled before the girl, opening his arms wide in an inviting manner. She barreled into him, chubby arms wrapping tightly around his neck._

_"Don' go, Da. I don' want you to go- to leave us," Erin pleaded._

_"I know, darlin'. But I'll be back before ye know it. Take care o' your mammy now, I 'ave to go."_

_He put her down, and wiped her tears gently away. Erin looked down at her little bare feet and shoved her doll toward him solemnly. _

_"Take 'er, Da. 'Member us while you're gone, an' bring 'er back."_

_O'Connor felt tears well up in his eyes as he took the doll gently. It was Erin's favorite; given to her by her mother, who brought it from Ireland. He cradled the doll as he would a baby and looked up at his sad little daughter._

_"I cannot take her, my lass. She's yours."_

_"Take her please, Daddy," Erin pleaded. "She won't be happy without you home."_

The doll was tucked carefully in his haversack, wrapped in several small handkerchiefs for protection. When he was alone, O'Connor would take it out, and whisper into its painted ear- as if his daughter could hear him through the doll. He usually did this around the girl's bed time, and sang her a soft lullaby before carefully wrapping the doll back up and putting it gently back in its place. The handkerchiefs it was wrapped in all were ink stained- the almost unreadable scrawl identifying O'Connor, and asking that if he were found dead on the battlefield, or if the doll was lost, to take it to his daughter in Virginia, out of Winchester.

O'Connor hoped to return home soon. He never sent letters home, and didn't know how the family was doing in his absence. His little wife couldn't read or write. News of whatever was happening on his stead wouldn't be able to reach him.

Looking again out past the long rows of tents, his gaze lingering to the south, O'Connor breathed a silent sigh. Yes, they had to win this war. And soon.

* * *

_**A/N: Well, what'd y'all think? That last section of O'Connor was just so I get to write more about him ^_^ Like I said when I introduced him- he's my favorite OC. Why? Because he is! Soon, we'll see more of Mosby and his raiders (meaning Leo), and the brothers will inch closer and closer to each other... Not technically a spoiler because you all know it's inevitable.**_

_**Anywho, yes, the children ran away to find their Uncle Leo. We'll be seeing them too. Aaaaallll through the story. **_

_**Kindly, you could all give me your thoughts. That'd be great. Like, totally. REVIEW!**_


	10. Casey Jones

_**A'N: I'm happy with how fast I'm getting these things put up... Hope you guys are too! Chapter Ten is here! I'll tell you now, there's not much action (except for some at the very end), but it's still relatively important so don't just skip over it. And I believe Aster Sapphire wanted to see Casey Jones in this fic ;)**_

_**HannahCake310: I'll have to look that one up. Right now I'm reading **Gods and Generals** (that was made into the best  movie!), **The Last Cavalier**, and **For Cause and Comrades**. If you've never read any of them, I highly recommend all of them. **The Last Cavalier** is a biography on Stuart, **For Cause and Comrades** is a collection of letters and diary entries form both Union and Confederate soldiers compiled to explain why they went off to war, and **Gods and Generals** is just a generally amazing historical novel centered around Stonewall Jackson, Lee, Hancock, and Chamberlain from just before the war to Gettysburg.**_

* * *

**Chapter Ten: Casey Jones**

The cavalry camp welcomed him 'home'; or rather, O'Connor, Mathis, and Jake did. There was a celebration among the quartet the night Leonardo returned. Mathis welcomed him back with a crushing embrace, shoving a flask of whiskey into his right hand, and Jake smiled and broke out a bottle of mescal he'd brought from Texas. The boys were bound and determined to get drunk, with him or without. O'Connor just smiled and waited for the kids' excitement to burn off. The older Irishman felt like the only adult of the welcoming party, and shook his head at Leo's astonished glance.

"They've been wit'out their Lee Brown for three days and they act like this," he muttered, and took a drink of mescal.

Leo laughed as the Irishman's eyes widened and he coughed.

"Lord! That'll burn a hole through you! What's this called again?"

The newest addition to their group just winked. "Mex'can licker. Now they got tequila, but oh, before then... This was _the drink_."

The boy downed a shot of it without blinking and poured himself some more. O'Connor just shook his head and put the glass down, opting for a swig of Mathis's whiskey.

"What are you boys gonna do when me and O'Connor leave with Mosby?" Leo asked over the whiskey flask as it was passed to him.

Mathis blinked. What was he gonna do? "Dunno. Find another group to drink with, I guess..."

Leo scoffed. "So that's all we're good for, eh? I see how I rank!"

Mathis shook his head quickly and stammered, not having meant anything bad against his friends. Jake shook his head with a laugh, and gave the other boy a hefty shove. Mathis glared at his Texan counterpart, and shoved him back.

"Now whaddaya mean, what are_ we_ gonna do when you're gone? I've worked my way into Mosby's gang myself. I'll be ridin' 'longside you fellas," Jake said when he recovered, a bright grin on his features.

O'Connor slapped him on the back soundly. "Well congratulations, Jake darlin', ye'll get shot as a spy wit' the rest of us!"

The three future raiders laughed. They knew what their job entailed, and were ready to make the sacrifice. It was for Virginia. For Texas. For the Carolinas and every other Confederate state. Mathis looked disappointed at knowing he would be left alone, the sole remainder of their group. But he quickly got over it and tried a swig of Jake's mescal.

Leo didn't indulge in the whiskey, and didn't care for the mescal. The topic had turned to the subject of the daily debate the four shared. It never was the same, but every day they had to pick something to argue over, to relieve their minds of the boredom that plagued camp life. He and Mathis were arguing that Virginia was the greatest place to be. Jake refused to be swayed, stating firmly that Texas was the prettiest place on the face of the earth. O'Connor just shook his head and remarked that they hadn't been to Ireland yet, and to stop trying to argue with that 'sound logic'.

"I'm tellin' you, there ain't no place like Texas! It's the garden spot of the world! The country is teemin' with game, it's the perfect land for cattle- there's fortunes to be made back home! Fortunes _have_ been made there!" Jake argued, the mouse on his shoulder clutching his coat to keep from being thrown by the boy's frantic gesturing.

"First off, calm down before your pet lands in Douglas's fire back there," Leo smiled, "and second- I went through Texas not twenty years ago. And I'll have you know," he continued, looking at all three participants, "that is the dustiest, most hostile, _mercilessly __**hot**_ place on the face of the Earth! Teeming with game! Ha! Yeah, full of cougars prowling and prairie wolves slinking around waiting for you to let your guard down!"

Jake sighed dreamily and leaned back with his hands behind his head, eyelids drooping. "Ah, home sweet home."

He snickered and sat back up when O'Connor put his two cents in. "I've seen it too," he started, gaining everyone's attention. "Seen the ugliest camp follower ever created and fought for scraps with the mangiest coyote to ever walk the earth!"

Jake scoffed. "And what about you, Matty boy, you care to strike a blow to my homeland too?"

Mathis's brow furrowed in thought and one eye twitched in concentration. It was clear he'd already drank way more than his share of the whiskey. "I reckon I don't remember half of it."

O'Connor snorted. "You never could hold your liquor, mate."

* * *

Raphael had left the camp entirely, stomping through the snow in a generally western direction. His oldest son was in danger because of Leo. All because of his no good deserting brother! The man's fist shot out and thudded into a young oak tree. Raphael growled against the dull pain in his hand and stomped on. They were camped about sixty miles out of Harrisburg, Pennsylvania. From Brooklyn they had set out in late October, and they had arrived at the town eleven days later, where they were held up for two weeks awaiting further orders. All that came was the order to press on, with no specifications. The regiment had marched three more days before they were ordered to make camp, and there they stayed for the rest of the year.

Pennsylvania was a pretty state, but the hot-headed man cared little for the scenery. He wanted to get further south where he would be useful for a change. He wanted to fight these rebels. Already they had a reputation as daring fighters, and their Rebel Yell was spoken of as if it alone could take out the entire Union army. Raph knew it was just idle gossip from people who had never heard it. They were just hillbillies and swamp people, for heaven's sake! How they immortalized themselves with one good fight he couldn't understand.

And his brothers thought that Leo had moved south! Why would a well brought up, educated, _Union_ man associate himself with the likes of those people? Of course it'd be just like Leo to run southward, where he couldn't be found easily. Maybe he was fighting for the Rebs right now.

All these thoughts about the rebel army had Raph stirred up. His muscles were all wound up tight, coiled like a rattlesnake, ready to strike anything at any given moment. A twig snapped to his left and he leapt sideways, drawing a pistol quickly.

"Johnny Reb?" he snarled into the bushes, though the rational part of his mind knew that the Rebs were far south of here.

"Billy Yank!" cried the stranger angrily as he leapt out into the clearing where Raph stood and took a swing with the butt of a rifle.

Raphael ducked it and was about to tell the fool he was a Yank too when he received a kick to the stomach. Yep, he was in for a fight. Tucking his pistol back into his belt so he wouldn't kill a man from his own side, Raph crouched into a ready position. The other Union man didn't seem to care what color uniform Raph was wearing, just swung again with the butt of his rifle. This time Raph grabbed it mid-swing and wrenched it from the man's hands, balling his left hand into a fist and lashing out at the man quickly once he was disarmed. Tossing the rifle a few feet away, Raph punched the guy twice more, and head butted him in the stomach.

"Wait wait, wait!" the guy cried out, seeing Raphael clearly from his viewpoint from the snowy ground. "You're a Yankee too?"

"No, I'm a red Indian, what does it look like?" Raph spat sarcastically and reached out to help the man up. " 'Course I'm a Yank."

"Gee, sorry," the guy muttered sarcastically as he rubbed his stinging cheek and dabbed at his bleeding lip. "You called out Johnny Reb, what was I supposed to think?"

"That I was making sure the rebels hadn't come this far north yet," Raph answered flatly.

The man huffed and held out his right hand. "Name's Jones. Casey Jones. 14th Brooklyn."

Raph shook his hand firmly. "You're from our regiment then. Huh, never seen ya. My name's Raphael Hamato- you call me Raph."

Casey adopted a mocking 'high and mighty' look. "I think I'd call you Private, and you'd call me Sergeant Jones."

Raph raised an eyebrow. "You're too much of an oaf. What idiot made you a sergeant?"

"The folks who recognized my Pop as one of New York's finest."

"Finest what? Meathead?"

The two men shared a laugh.

"And you think you're so much better than I am?" Casey challenged.

"Psht, of course!" Raph scoffed.

"Race you back to camp then!" the guy called over his shoulder as he broke into a sprint back to the camp.

Raph caught up with him quickly and made it to camp several lengths ahead of his new-found friend, stopping just inside the tree line.

* * *

_**A/N: And there is the start of a beautiful, violent friendship. If you're thinking that Raph should watch his tongue around a higher ranking fella than him, remember- this is **Casey Jones** we're talking about. I think he could care less if he were a sergeant or not if he got his fair crack at the enemy.**_

_**Now that Leo's back, they'll be leaving soon to start causing trouble with Mosby ^_^ So there'll be plenty of action in the next few chapters as far as Leo goes. The other brothers may or may not be headed further south soon, I've yet to decide. I thought it probable they hadn't gone too far south yet because let's face it- most of the highest-up Union generals were horrendously slow or cautious. The kids weren't in this chapter either, but they'll show up soon enough.**_

_**If you're wondering, Mathis is probably twenty-four years old, and Jake is twenty-one. O'Connor I'll say is anywhere from forty-two to forty-eight.**_

_**Anyways, that's all I have to say for now. If You've got any questions or comments then feel free to REVIEW!**_


	11. The Raiders Ride

_**A/N: Well, I meant to have this up yesterday, but the fact of the matter is I was lazy yesterday. Anyways, here we are with the longest chapter so far :) A bit gritty toward the end, but I give you the action I kept promising.**_

_**HannahCake310: I'm glad you enjoy the story so much! :) **_

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: The Raiders**

Leo squirmed uncomfortably at the feeling of sweat rolling down his back as he and ten other raiders galloped through the dense brush, ducking easily under tree limbs and passing roughly through bramble thickets. Balls whizzed by their heads, but none found their mark, all embedding themselves in the earth or the trees around the raiders. They were all leaning toward their horses' heads, gripping the reins in one hand and clutching their mount's neck with the other arm to remain seated. None dared lift their heads until the Yanks gave up their chase. Leo glanced over at Jake, who was grinning devilishly as he rode, as if this were a game. The mouse on his shoulder wasn't afraid in the least, just leaned toward its owner and clutched his jacket to keep from being thrown. Leo swore that creature was more human than anything else he'd ever seen.

A man on horseback emerged from the thickets in front of the crew, and Leo called for them to split up. The Yankee took up the chase after Leonardo, recognizing him as the leader. The rebel raider just hunched lower in his saddle and gave his mount a sharp kick to urge him onward. The horse had learned quickly to evade and disappear when his master grew tense, and when that anxious kick met his flanks, he knew to put everything he had into a last burst of speed and evade the enemy at any cost. Yankee horses couldn't match his flying hooves- at least through the denser areas, where the agile creature could leap and wheel through the trees with ease. On open ground it was revealed that his 'speed' was merely practiced agility more than anything.

"Lee!"

The loud whisper had come from O'Connor on a midnight mare he had 'confiscated' from a federal encampment not long ago. The mare was liquid smoke as she moved through the brambles, bearing her brawny rider with ease through the trees. Leo strained his eyes to see O'Connor with his dirt smeared uniform and face. O'Connor jerked his head to the right.

El Dorado's back hooves slid as he changed direction, leaping through a thicket and following O'Connor's mare into the night. The Yank couldn't follow them with his heavy mount, but from his pistol let a bullet fly, and smiled grimly when the dark forest emitted the demonic shriek of a wounded man. Turning his winded horse back toward the encampment they walked slowly back, satisfied that the leader of the raiders was down.

Leo swayed in the saddle, breathing heavily as he groped to extinguish the white fire in his left shoulder. Blood flowed thickly down his back, mixing with sweat and seeping slowly through the fabric of his uniform. Jake and O'Connor appeared, each sparing a hand to keep their friend balanced as they slowed their horses to an easy lope.

"You all right Lee?" O'Connor whispered, taking El Dorado's reins.

"I'll be... Fine," Leo gritted through clenched teeth as Jake peeled his coat away from the wound.

"This ball is deep, O'Connor," Jake murmured, fingering the bloody hole in his friend's shoulder. Leo bit back a yell as the pain in his shoulder intensified.

"You think?" The wounded man snarled, jerking his arm and shoulder away form the younger man. _Bad idea._

"I remember a cottage further ahead," O'Connor whispered back, ignoring Leo's protests as Jake tried to get his shirt off to look at the wound better.

"What if they won't treat him?" Jake asked. "What if they send for Billy Yank and that jugheaded hay-burner of his?"

"We ride like hell," Leo gritted, rolling his shoulder slowly and painfully.

The cottage was small and simple, but the welcome glow of the fires within enticed the three raiders. They pulled up by the house and tossed their reins around a post, the youngest helping the wounded as the trio ascended the steps of the porch and O'Connor knocked on the door. A gruff looking old man threw the door open and started screaming.

"You damned soldiers get off my property before I get my shotgu-" he paused when he noticed that they were three Confederates.

Putting a finger to his lips as if they had been the noisy ones, the old man shoved them into his house. In the parlor sat three young ladies, a middle aged woman holding an infant, and two hound dogs.

"Martha! This man is wounded- see to 'im!" the old man barked, and looked to each of the three girls in turn. "Juney, take July, May, fetch some vittles for these men, and April help them get settled!"

The youngest girl took the baby boy, the middle stood and left the room, and the oldest stepped forward and led them to a spare room in the cottage, bidding the men to lay their wounded friend down on a small cot. O'Connor helped Leo onto the cot, shoving the wounded man onto his back when he refused to lay of his own free will.

"April, May, June, and July?" Leo muttered under his breath as he rested his head a thin pillow. "How very creative."

O'Connor chuckled and ruffled the man's hair affectionately before he and Jake were led back out into the parlor and sat at a small settee. The old man sat in a large rocking chair near the hearth, pulling out a pipe and looking at the two men like a judge before convicted men. Jake fidgeted under his gaze, but O'Connor seemed perfectly at ease.

"Now, what do they call you boys?" he asked in a bark much the same as the one he used on his wife and daughters.

"My name's O'Connor, this is Jake, and our mate Lee Brown here is your wounded one ma'am," O'Connor said, turning his attention to Martha as she reappeared, a steaming kettle of water in her hands and May standing behind her with a tray of food and one of medical supplies for her mother.

Jake's eyebrows rose as he eyed the food hungrily, the morning's meal seeming years past. May giggled at his expression and set the tray gently down between he and O'Connor, then taking the tray of equipment to the spare room. When May returned, Jake thanked the girl before indulging in salt pork and potatoes. She smiled, but gave him an odd glance as he ate, his already slightly girlish features becoming more so as he warmed and the color came back to his cheeks.

The old man looked at April, who sat straight, awaiting orders as well as any soldier.

"April, go help your mother," her father ordered, and again looked at the two men in his parlor. They were good Southern men alright. They could be trusted. "Name's Charles O'Neil. Now you start tellin' your story while your comrade gets taken care of."

O'Connor spun a carefully weaved lie.

"April, tear that sheet into strips for bandages," Martha ordered, pushing Leo back into the bed when he tried to lean upwards. "And you, m'dear lad, sit tight, be good, and bite down on this."

A thick cedar stick was placed between Leonardo's teeth as Martha's fingers quickly worked the buttons of Leo's vest and worked his shirt up and over his head. Leo leaned forward painfully to let the woman take it the rest of the way off and grimaced when the fabric caught in the angry bullet hole. The shot hadn't gone all the way through, but left a small lump of muscle and flesh protruding from the front of his shoulder. Frowning, Martha patted his pale bicep.

"Now I can do this two ways, I can cut you open from the front and take the ball out, or I can dig it out of your shoulder from the entry wound. What do you say?"

Leo groaned. This _had_ to be difficult. "Dig it out," he said around the stick in his mouth, figuring that if he would get this treatment in camp anyways, it couldn't be any worse here in a snug house.

Martha helped him roll over on his right side, and took a deep breath. Leo felt her knife and tweezers enter his flesh, and bit back a whimper as the cold steel probed the angry wound in his shoulder. The wound hadn't stopped bleeding before, and the flow increased with the mother's probing. At least the steel warmed up.

"April, wet some of those strips and wipe away some of his blood," Martha said calmly, as if she were performing her ordinary duties around the house. April did as she was told and whispered to Leo as she tried to ebb the flow of blood from his shoulder.

"Are you doing okay?"

"I'm just fine and dandy," Leo gritted, wincing as she pressed the cool rag to his shoulder.

"I'm sorry, this is the only way," the girl whispered back.

"That'll do, April," Martha said, and resumed her place at the wounded man's side.

The steel was cold again as it found and ripped the bullet from where it was embedded in his shoulder, and Leo cried out in anguish.

"Sorry, Mister Brown, but the quicker it's done, the quicker you'll heal," Martha clucked, wiping her bloody instruments off on a rag. 'You're a cavalryman, yes?"

"Yes ma'am," Leo replied, spitting the stick out of his mouth and sighing in relief. The hard part was over.

But blood still flowed quickly, and didn't want to stop. Nothing Martha tried to do would stem the flow of the thick liquid. She left the room, bidding April to try her best while she took a moment with the soldier's comrades.

O'Connor looked up when the door clicked open and a bloodied Martha stepped out.

"I got the bullet out, but he won't stop bleeding," the woman said solemnly, meeting the Irishman's gaze.

"Can't you just stitch it up?" Jake asked, big eyes full of worry.

O'Connor shook his head. "He'd pull at the stitches too much and rip them out. If he gets an infection that'll be the end of it."

Jake frowned. "Then what's gonna happen?"

Mr. O'Neil shrugged as if were the most obvious thing in the world. "Put an iron on 'im and be done with it."

"Charles!" Martha cried indignantly.

"What?" the old man asked angrily. "That's what we always did!"

"Charles O'Neil I will not sear that poor man's wound closed!" his wife responded vehemently.

O'Connor stood up. "Madam," he stated solemnly. "I've seen it done before. It works wonders. I think if nothing else will work... It's what has to be done."

Martha shook her head. Was this man really offering to mutilate his friend in such a barbaric manner?! Jake just watched the scene with a curious look on his face, having no idea what method they were arguing about. After several moments, Martha finally consented, knowing the men were speaking the truth. O'Connor motioned for Jake to stand and they walked to the spare room.

"Miss April, would ye mind terribly puttin' that file there on the fire?" O'Connor asked as he entered the room.

Leo was in a daze, loss of blood making him disoriented and pale.

"Alright, laddie, just you wait, ye'll be fine in no time," O'Connor crooned to his injured friend, making sure April had put the instrument on the fire.

The girl looked to her mother for information, but the woman just shook her head solemnly, and ushered her daughter out of the room. They sat together in the parlor, Charles smoking his pipe casually while June and May played with baby July and Martha and April fretted quietly over the unfortunate soldier.

"June, c'mere darlin'," Martha called softly. The child stood and strode over to her mother obediently and clambered into her lap, nestling into her skirts. The woman mentally calculated the minutes, and motioned for April to get May in a similar position.

"Jake, climb up beside him on the bed and hold him down as best you can. Don't let him thrash, or move that shoulder at all," O'Connor murmured to the younger man as he eyed the file over the fire.

Jake's eyes wandered to the now glowing instrument and they widened. "You're not gonna..."

"I am. And you're gonna hold him down so I don't burn anywhere I shouldn't," O'Connor growled, grabbing the cool end of the file. "I've had it done before. It hurts like hell, but it'll get better, and it's the quickest way."

Jake shook his head to clear it of the guilty thoughts plaguing him and pressed Leo into the bed as firmly as he could. The wounded man sensed that something was amiss and started to panic, thrashing against the younger man's hold.

"Hold him tighter," O'Connor growled, readying the file.

Charles had taken July outside for fresh air, and on Martha's signal she and April covered the smaller children's ears tightly just as an unearthly shriek ripped though the closed bedroom door. The agonized cry continued, fluctuating in pitch and volume until it finally and abruptly cut off. He must have passed out from the pain.

Jake was breathing heavily, still wrapped around Leonardo as he regained his strength. It had been a hell of a hard time holding him down, and his ear had been right at Leo's mouth. There was a ringing sounding through his ears. O'Connor looked grim, setting the file aside as he patted his friend's cool, bare shoulder.

"Ye're a right trouper, Lee. That shoulder'll feel better in no time, don't you worry," he murmured to the unconscious man.

When Martha returned, O'Connor was cleaning up the room and Jake was watching Leonardo sleep peacefully under a clean blanket.

"I hope ye don't mind, Missus O'Neil," O'Connor stated, gesturing to the clean bedding and neatly arranged instruments. "But I thought I'd save ye some work."

"No, Mr. O'Connor, I am thankful," Martha said in a shaky voice. "Is he sleeping now?"

"Aye, like a babe. Would it be too much of an imposition to stay until morning?"

Martha shook her head. "Of course not, Mr. O'Connor. I'll fetch some extra blankets, you can sleep in the parlor."

"Thank you, Mrs. O'Neil," Jake said drowsily, standing and stretching slowly.

* * *

"Jimmy, I'm cold."

The boy pulled his cousin closer to him, shivering in the low light of their small fire. Grady lay behind them, providing a decently warm pillow for the two young ones. The horse's breathing was soft and slow, warm puffs of steam billowing rhythmically from his soft muzzle. They had been travelling for the better part of a month and a half with no success. Multiple times they'd been told to go home- back to their mothers where they belonged. No one knew of any Leonardo Hamato, or of anyone matching his description. They were out of luck, out of options. They had no idea where to go, they had little idea of where they were- James's map only covered a small portion of Pennsylvania.

"How much longer till we find him and can go home?"

James shrugged, and curled closer in his worn coat. "I dunno, Jane. Maybe we'll just go further south. Maybe someone will start talking and it'll just happen to reach his ears that we're lookin' for him."

"I hope so," Jane sighed.

* * *

_**A/N: Well guys, what do you think? Of course I had to have April in here somewhere**_**-_ what would a TMNT story be without her? Anyways, I'm tired, so I'll bid you good day. Be sure to tell me what you think!_**


	12. Goober Peas

**_A/N: Well, this one's a little late- but better late than never I say. I'll have more Raph, Don and Mikey in coming chapters, but this one's a bit short on them and long on Leo. It's just soooooooo much easier to write for Leo, and frankly I'm a lazy person. As always, I thank my glorious people out there. Yes, glorious. It's a nice word._**

**_Oh, and I made a really stupid mistake. I keep saying that it's James and Jane Grace that ran off, but when I'm actually writing their sections, I keep calling Jane Mary. It's supposed to be Jane that left. I think I've fixed most of it, and I'll try to make sure I keep everything right from now on._**

**_HannahCake310: Thank you so much! I hope you enjoy the rest of the story as much as you've enjoyed this so far._**

**_I Love Kittens too: I don't think there's a better friendship than that of Raph and Casey's (on TV at least)- they're just too awesome together. April's gonna have a lasting role in the story too. THanks for all your reviews!_**

* * *

**Chapter Twelve: Goober Peas**

_Our Little Wives,_

_Today we and 99 others were ordered to fill the ranks of the newly formed 97th New York under a General Wadsworth. We will be back in New York to see you in a fortnight, and will march out of the state March 12th with the General. It's a rather annoying process, and many of us would rather just wait for them here in Pennsylvania. But the General is insistent about us all marching out from the same state at the same time. We are sorry to tell you that the children haven't wandered this way. We go out to search for them as often as possible but they seem to have disappeared entirely. Rest assured, they will be found, and our family will be whole again. See you in fourteen days,_

_Warmest regards,_

_Your loving husbands; Michelangelo, Donatello, and Raphael_

Elve-Anna folded the paper carefully. They were due in two days, and the children all day had been at the pond fishing. Splinter's condition was no better, they had no word of the missing children, and spring was coming on late. The woman stood and pulled a scarf around her neck and up over her head, then grabbed a thick woolen shawl and slung it about her shoulders. She could smell dinner cooking, and knew it was Mary Belle. Delores was with the children.

Elve-Anna smoothed her skirts and stepped out of the big house, knowing that the children needed to be clean and warm for the evening meal. The thin snow crunched under her small heeled boots as she strolled peacefully to the pond. She could hear high-pitched laughter emanating from the small clearing, and Delores's gentle scolding when the little ones got too close to the water. As she approached the clearing, she saw them. Her boys had abandoned the sport of fishing in favor of chasing each other around the pond, shoving and wrestling with each other when they came in contact. Delores was sitting on a large stone, all the snow cleared from its surface, watching Lenore, Annabelle Lee, Othello, and Mary Belle as they watched the freezing water and waited for a bite. Heart-warming as the scene was, Elve-Anna's heart ached for the missing children.

* * *

Jake had volunteered to help with breakfast the next morning, and he and April stood elbow to elbow in the small kitchen that was separated from the rest of the cottage. She and her mother had accepted to boy's help gratefully, but the girl couldn't help but stare sideways at the strange fellow as they cooked. He was short compared to his friends, only around five foot five, while the others were over six foot. The boy was bulky in the middle, and was wider at the hips than the shoulders. His face was round with soft angles and long eyelashes framed his big grey-blue eyes. Even his voice was higher than it should be, and it wavered the more he talked.

Jake knew she was staring at him, and was quietly ashamed. He couldn't shake the mocking of the other soldiers, and being criticized by a woman was unbearable. The mouse on his shoulder just placed a paw on his neck to get him to focus again on the food cooking in front of him. The light pressure on his shoulder disappeared, and out of the corner of his eye, Jake saw Martin scampering out of the kitchen and to the house.

Martin's paws scraped quietly on the wooden walk between the kitchen and the house. The side door was slightly ajar, and the mouse slipped easily through it. Now was the hard part. Two large hounds laid snoring in the parlor, close to the hearth. Their noses twitched attentively even in their sleep, and the bases of their drooping ears twitched with each creak in the house. Martin tip-pawed into the parlor, making himself seem as small and invisible as possible. The legs of a chair were the first cover he had halfway into the room. He scrambled up one of the legs and clung to the back of the chair, his claws easily piercing the fabric. Moving sideways, Martin crossed the length of the chair and leapt, landing quietly in the narrow hallway that led to the spare room where Leonardo slept.

This door was closed tightly, but Martin found just enough space under it to squeeze himself painfully through. On the other side, the mouse took a moment to flatten the mussed fur on his head before leaping up and clutching the sheets of the cot that his master's friend lay upon. Leo's chest rose and fell rhythmically, raising Martin a few inches each time the human took a breath. He reached out with a paw and touched the man's face. He twitched but didn't move. Flattening his ears, Martin touched him again, applying pressure with his small claws. Leo's eyes fluttered open and he tried to focus on the creature standing on his chest. Martin gave a single squeak and he leapt off the bed, scurrying under the door he came in from. Leonardo was awake; Martin's work was done.

Leo blinked a couple times in confusion. Did that rodent _really_ just wake him up? The man shook his head groggily and sat up. Waves of pain washed over him as his shoulder was jostled, and a groan escaped his lips. The fire in his arm hadn't dulled since the night before, and his memory was hazy as to what happened. he remembered getting shot, arriving at the cottage, the woman of the house torturing him with cold steel utensils, then a searing pain.

Tenderly, Leo reached and touched his burning shoulder, and grimaced at the feeling of the marred skin. There was a mirror on one of the room's walls, and Leo stood to look in it. His black hair was mussed up and dirty- when was the last time he'd ha a chance to bathe again? The cavalryman shook the thought away. He had regained some of the color to his face, but he retained a gaunt look from being on minimum rations for a couple of weeks. His golden eyes seemed duller than usual, and sunken into his face. If Maggie were here she would scold him and fuss about how sickly he looked. She'd then make him the finest meal he'd ever had, and he'd eat till he nearly burst.

Leo closed his eyes against his hunger. If he breathed deeply, he could smell the ham in a frying pan, the flapjacks browning separately. It took the cavalryman a moment to recognize that the food was real- breakfast was cooking. Leo opened his eyes and looked about the room for his shirt. There was a clean one laying out for him on a chair, and he made a mental note to thank the O'Neil family for their hospitality.

Before he slipped into the garment, however, he caught a glimpse of his shoulder in the mirror. The flesh was horribly burned, sealed grotesquely by the searing file O'Connor had held to it the night before. It would scar horribly, a constant reminder of his foolishness.

Leonardo turned his thoughts on the raid as he dressed. They had been horribly outnumbered. Forty raiders against three hundred well-armed Yankees. But it was only a raid. Their orders were to slip into the camp undetected, kill as many men and take whatever they could, and gallop away. It would have been a successful mission had they not been discovered too soon. One of the raiders had stumbled and fallen, a stray bayonet creasing his side. The unlikely accident caused the man of course to scream, and the camp was alerted at once.

At least three raiders were killed in the hasty retreat, but Leo remembered cutting down at least six Yankees. The others would have had better luck than he.

Before he knew what he was doing, Leo was already dressed and out the door of the spare room. The hound dogs in the parlor looked up lazily at him but otherwise didn't move. Jake came in the side door carrying a steaming plate of scrambled eggs.

"Mornin' Lee, sleep well?" the youth asked as he hastily set the plate down on a table in the dining room that connected to the parlor.

"Would'a slept a lot better if I didn't constantly wake up from the nightmare that my shoulder was on fire," Leo commented wryly as he snatched a quick piece of egg. He pulled a sour face. "_That was __**not**__ egg."_

Jake chuckled and shook his head, wiping sweat from his brow. "You oughtta expect the worst, bein' in the army and all. It's better than gruel- jus' keep tellin' yourself that and you'll be fine."

"Do I dare ask?" Leo muttered as he followed Jake to the kitchen to help bring in breakfast.

"You dare. Hog brains- mixed in to make the eggs last longer."

Leo blanched, but said nothing else as he helped set the breakfast table. Jake knowingly kept as much pressure as he could off his friend's left shoulder.

The table set, April was sent out to fetch her father while Martha sat her children around the large table. Martin scrambled onto Jake's shoulder, a tiny grey cloak wrapped around him and buckled with a brass officer's button. The mouse eyed June warily but didn't move to tear the garment off.

"Now, Martin, who made you a cloak?" Jake asked, his gaze wandering to the giggling little girl.

"My mama made it for one of my little bitty dolls, but Jessup said he didn't need it as much as Martin- Martin's a _real_ soldier," the child said merrily, eyes twinkling. "He even stood real nice and still for me when I put it on him!"

By the look on the rodent's face, she held him down and pinned the cloak to him. The creature squeaked wearily and clutched Jake's coat as the boy laughed.

"That thing acts just like a human," Leo chuckled from Jake's left side. "It's a wonder he can't talk."

The copper furred rodent caught Leonardo's gaze and his strangely blue eyes seemed to twinkle secretively. The cavalryman blinked once and the look was gone, but an uneasy feeling remained. The mouse was smarter than a pig- and he knew from experience how smart the porkers were.

Breakfast was passed in relative silence, and afterward Leonardo stood in the family's barn preparing El Dorado for the trip back to their camp. His keen senses picked up small footsteps behind him and the man turned. April stood there, a bruised, wrinkled apple in her hand. The girl joined Leo by the horse and petted his nose and patted his neck. She pulled a small knife and cut the apple into smaller sections, feeding them to the greedy horse one at a time.

"Where're you from, Lee?" She asked curiously as she patted his horse again.

"Virginia, near Winchester," Leo replied.

"You don't sound like it."

Leo was a bit shocked at the girl's forward attitude, but said nothing about it.

"Where were you born?"

Leo sighed. "Out side of Brooklyn, New York."

There was a short silence, and El Dorado finished the apple off and nosed April greedily for more.

"I'm from New York too," April said, looking up at the cavalryman. "You have any family up there?"

"Delving into personal matters, Miss O'Neil," Leonardo warned. "But if you must know, yes. I have three brothers, three sisters-in-law, eight nieces and nephews, and a father all in New York."

April nodded, satisfied with the man's reply. Again there was silence. It lasted longer this time, Leonardo carding his fingers gently through his horse's mane with one hand and petting his flank gently with the other. April shifted on her feet.

"Where will you go now?"

Leo fought frustration. His shoulder hurt, his pride was wounded by his recent failure, and he had a long ways to travel. "Back to camp, then on to the next grand adventure in the life of a cavalier," he replied grandly, his voice filled with sarcasm.

"Sounds fun," April commented, toying with El Dorado's reins.

Leo's hands froze instantly and he stared hard at the young woman before him. He'd heard briefly about some girls who'd gotten it into their pretty little heads to go play soldier. They'd disguise themselves, join the ranks, and fight like men until they were killed, captured, wounded or otherwise exposed. He didn't wish that fate on this kind young lady.

There was also the matter if a woman soldier should survive the war. She could never make a name for herself anywhere else; no one would wed her, no one would respect her. Everyone in the community would treat that woman as if she were lower than dirt. Another fate that Leonardo didn't care to see April O'Neil dealt.

"Now you listen here April," Leo said darkly. "No part of this is fun. This is _war_. Cold, ruthless war. Thousands of men are dying on those fields, and not one of them can ever see their families again. Never hold their wives or their children again, never hear their voices- their laughter. Blood is flowing in streams and rivulets, watering farmers' fields. War is hell. War is death and despair and depression and cold, bloody hell. It is man's work. Man's creation. Men go off and fight and leave their women alone and heart-broken. They are ripped apart by canister and shell, pierced by bayonets. April, I was in Mexico. I saw a boy no older than you get his head blown clean across the field! I _was_ a boy no older than you when I was first baptised in blood! And when I was marched back to camp that night... God, I could be starving completely to death and I wouldn't have been able to keep any food in my stomach. I stayed awake for six days straight to combat the nightmares that plagued me! I finally passed out from exhaustion, and slept like death."

Leo's voice rose, filled with emotion at the memory, April shrank back a little bit during his tirade.

"A woman should never see war," he said lowly after a few moments.

"I can do it. I can make a difference," April said strongly.

She wouldn't back down so easily. In Leonardo and his boys she could see escape. Freedom. April had watched her mother work for every day of her life, work her fingers plumb to the bone and not receive a word of praise or a single coin in return. The nineteen year old didn't want that life. She didn't want to be a good little domestic housewife. She had her suspicions about the boy Jake. And if she were right then that path wasn't so hard.

"What about Jake?" she asked, bringing up the subject.

Leonardo wheeled on her. "Now don't you dare get that poor boy involved. He's come all the way from Texas and has been teased mercilessly the entire way. He's a strong young _man_ and deserves respect for the hard work he puts in! I've never seen a better man with a horse or a saber, nor met a more generous or loyal one to friends."

April realized the mistake she'd made and dropped the subject.

"I'm telling you I can do it! I helped with your shoulder last night, if you don't recall," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

"That ain't half of what you'd see one the field," the man countered dangerously. "Now, Miss O'Neil, I suggest you march yourself back into that house and help your mother out with your siblings like a good little lady and put these notions of war out of your pretty little head."

April gasped indignantly and slapped Leo as hard as she could across the face before marching angrily out of the barn, shoving O'Connor and Jake out of the way roughly as she passed. The Irishman and Texan looked stunned at the girl's heated exit and looked to their friend for an explanation. Leo just shook his head and muttered something about childish notions.

"Ye ready to make the long ride back into Virginia, Lee?" O'Connor asked with a smile, attaching a sack of provisions to his saddle.

"You know it," Leo chuckled, catching another sack that the Irishman tossed at him. "What have we here?"

"Goober peas!" Jake laughed, attaching his own provisions to the saddle of his paint stallion.

Leonardo's anger and frustration had left with April, and happiness came strolling in with his friends. In a light voice he started singing Goober Peas, laughing as he did. The humorous song filled the air as the trio made their way south out of Maryland and crossed into Virginia that day. Leonardo and O'Connor felt ten years younger, despite the lingering pain in the former man's shoulder, and they tossed peanut shells at each other at random intervals during their never ending song. Sometimes they made up new verses, but they mostly just repeated the original verses over and over until Martin and the three horses seemed to wish for the humans to drop dead.

* * *

_**A/N: Well, not much action here :/ But we're just that much closer to more action for both sides of the war. I'm just biding my time... **_

_**That aside, any lovers of Civil War music should know (or at least look up) the song Goober Peas. I do ^_^. And I have to say, it's one of my favorite era songs, next to Richmond is a Hard Road and Jine the Cavalry. If you want to hear the songs, look them up on You Tube by the 2nd South Carolina String Band- they are one of the best in the business. There's also the lovely 97th Regimental String Band and Tom Roush- both also are amazing.**_

_**The way I'm thinking, April and her family live about twenty miles into Maryland, so it's about a days ride for Leo and the gang just to get back into friendly country, then another five miles give or take. They camp close to the border, cross over in raids, come back, and that's how Leo's (and O'Connor's) men make their living as raiders.**_

_**Any further questions or comments you guys feel free to put into a review. I'd greatly appreciate it.**_


	13. Getting Closer

_**A/N: Chapter thirteeeeeen! That's my favorite number ^_^ Not really sure what else to say about it other than read and enjoy!**_

_**I Love Kittens too: I always thought April would be the one to bring Leo down a peg (because somebody has to). Thanks for the review!**_

_**Aster Sapphire: Thank you very much for the review! And I actually haven't heard much about Bishop. I've seen all the movies, but only a bit of the actual series. I kinda looked up his backstory, but it said he was a U.S soldier in the Battle of New Orleans, and didn't say anything about the Civil War.**_

_**Amy Hamato: Thank you so much, I hope you continue to enjoy the story!**_

_**HannahCake310: I've had Goober Peas stuck in my head for weeks DX Not that that's a bad thing! It is amaaaaaazing. Aura Lee is good too. Have you heard All Quiet Along the Potomac Tonight? That's a good one too. Thank you for reviewing!**_

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Getting Closer**

The camp had been thrilled to see the trio back. There was a total of twenty-nine raiders in the camp, all bone-weary and hungry. The raid had thinned Union numbers a bit in that regiment, but their hasty retreat left no room to gather supplies. The boys hadn't eaten in a number of days, their horses were weary, their clothes tattered and thread-bare. Tatters of shoes separated their feet from the cold snow. Leonardo felt guilt wash over him. If he had planned the raid more carefully they might have food.

On O'Connor's and Leo's arrival in the camp, the twenty-nine men gave a large cheer, which grew to a roar when they produced the provisions the O'Neil family had so generously provided. It wasn't much, but a few mouthfuls of good food rested in each man's belly. By evening, however, the morsels had worn off. A few men chewed gamely on tough hunks of roasted horseflesh. The riders deprived of their horses didn't despair; their commanders would ensure that fresh horses be gathered.

As he stared into the clear night sky, the young captain sensed someone approach. Jake sat heavily near his head, looking down at him in a concerned manner.

"You alright Lee?"

Leo shrugged, looking at the array of twinkling stars. "I failed, Jake. The boys are hungry, practically naked, and on foot. And it's my fault."

Jake frowned, grabbing his captain's arm and pulling him into a sitting position. "Now Lee..."

"No, Jake. I _failed_."

The boy heaved a sigh and folded his arms over his knees, making a headrest. He cut his eyes upward toward the stars and felt a twinge of homesickness. If he closed his eyes, he could feel the prairie grasses underneath him, the cool dew spotting his trousers. He strained his ears and imagined the mournful cry of a coyote, the low growl of a stalking lion. Leo heard the faint whimper that issued from the boy's throat, and could see his eyes sparkle with unshed tears.

"Now, tell me what's weighing so heavily on your heart," the kind captain urged.

Jake was quiet a long moment and cast his gaze to the southwest, snow illuminated by moonlight and brightening the night-shaded earth. He shivered, unaccustomed to such biting winters.

"Texas is calling me home, I suppose," the boy whispered, lowering his gaze to his boots. "She never liked me to wander too far for too long."

"She?" Leo asked.

"Texas. My heart. My life. My mother."

The last sentence was whispered, the lad's faint voice almost lost to the wind. Jake shivered again and inched unconsciously closer to Leo for warmth. The older man noticed how ragged his coat had gotten and draped an arm about his friend's thin shoulders.

"You've never told us much about yourself," Leonardo commented.

"Ain't much to know," Jake shrugged, snuggling deeper into his coat. HIs eyes were lidded in exhaustion.

"There's enough."

The boy was thoughtful a moment, pondering where to start. "Well, I was born March 2nd, 1840 in San Antonio, Republic of Texas."

"Happy birthday."

Jake blinked. "Thanks... Anyways, my mama died when I was little, and my pa and my brother raised me. Pa died in a Comanche raid, me and my brother hid... The land became my mother... I love Texas more than I love my life. More than I love anything or anyone- more than I ever _will_ love anything or anyone."

Leo chuckled. He had never been so attached to anything but his brothers and father. This kid's wonderment seemed so naive, but the captain could understand where he was coming from.

Jake's head drooped, his breathing slowed, and he snored lightly. Leo snorted and shook his head, laying the boy down gently and unbuckling the blanket that had previously been slung over his shoulder. The boy sighed as the warm woolen object came to rest close to his exposed neck. There was a squeak, and Leonardo met the soft blue eyes of Martin. The rodent squeaked again and dived under the blanket and curled close to his master's throat.

* * *

**_One week later_**

* * *

Grady plodded wearily on, the children mounted on his back hunched over in exhaustion. James let him wander wherever he cared to wander, the reins limp in his small hands. Jane sneezed behind him, rubbing her runny nose with a sleeve. She had been coughing an awful lot this past week, and looked as if she were getting sick.

Grady stopped suddenly and lifted his head, staring into the darkness. His ears twitched and he grew stiff, nervously taking a step back. James strained his eyes to see past the curtain of fog and night, but could see nothing. Grady took another step back. Out of the fog materialized three men, stumbling and leaning upon one another for support. The coppery scent of blood filled the air and the massive horse pinned his ears back nervously. James's eyes widened and he slid off Grady, running toward the injured men. Jane clicked her tongue at Grady to get him to move and walked him up to the three soldiers.

"Mister, what happened?" James asked the first man.

He chuckled painfully, adjusting the weight of the man he was helping to bear along on his shoulder. "Just a skirmish, boy, the aftermath of a skirmish. Would you be so kind as to show us to your home for medical attention?"

James hesitated. "Well... We're not from here actually."

The man picked up on his New York accent. "Oh... What are you doin' down this way, Billy? You're too young to fight."

"We've been looking for our uncle," Jane wheezed, coming up behind James.

The man clucked and shook his head. "You won't be findin' him alive if you're going further south. We didn't leave too many Yanks breathin'."

James and Jane frowned at each other. The boy looked back to the three wounded men, all in tattered grey and butternut brown uniforms. He knew that he should hate the trio in front of him. They were the ones fighting against his father and uncles. They could have killed Leonardo in their skirmish today. But he looked hard at the three men in front of him, past the blood and grime on their faces. They were just men, not any sort of evil boogeymen. They were men; wounded men that needed attention.

"We haven't seen any houses or towns all day," James started, and took a quick glance at Grady. "But maybe one of you can ride Grady and we can look for someone to take care of you."

The man smiled grimly in the moonlight, blood glistening on his face. He was bone weary, energy seeping more quickly out of his body now that he had stopped moving. He shook his head slowly, and lifted the middle man higher on his shoulder. The last man helped carry him around to the horse's side. The man groaned as he was placed on the horse, and Jane helped to right him the best she could. She curled her lip. He stank horribly of gunpowder, sweat, and another odd smell that she didn't dare try to name. The man hadn't bathed in weeks. Grady tested the new weight on his back, and huffed lightly.

The weary first man shook James's small hand loosely and tipped his hat. "You take care of that'un now."

The last man watched his friend limp into the shadows. He heard a quiet gasp, a hiss, and the muffled thump of a body into the snow. His friend was dead. The boy didn't hear, thankfully, just stared at him for an explanation.

"The name's Bryce Wilcoxsin," he said lowly, voice like gravel. "And I'm seein' Georgie there to safety."

James nodded.

"You climb up on the horse. I can still walk, and your legs are a bit too short for this snow."

James did as he was told without a word and climbed atop the weary horse just behind his cousin. The man behind them gasped and wheezed, pain shooting throughout his body.

"What's your name?" Bryce asked, leading Grady west, hoping to find civilization there.

"James, and my cousin Jane Hamato," James said quietly looking back at the other man. "What's his name?"

"George Nells. What's your uncle's name, what does he look like? I might've heard of him."

"His name's Leonardo Hamato," James started, searching his memories for a physical description of the man. After a while he started again. "He's got... Black hair, gold-colored eyes, and stands... About as tall as you, Mister Wilcoxsin."

Bryce thought a moment before shaking his head. "No man comes to mind, course if he was a Yank I wouldn't know him anyways. Tomorrow maybe, you can go search that field we were fighting in."

James's stomach turned at the thought. He didn't want to look at the faces of all those maimed men, especially if one of them was his Uncle Leo. He stayed silent, trying not to think of the dying man sitting behind him as they plodded slowly on.

A soft light peeked through the fog, and as the party continued toward it the light took the form of the window of a cottage in a small clearing. Bryce stepped up to the door and knocked loudly three times, the flat side of his fist slapping dully against the wood. A red-headed, green-eyed girl answered curiously and gasped at the sight of the bloody soldier.

"Mother!" she called. "There's more of them, mother!"

An older woman appeared behind the first and looked at Bryce sternly, noting his bruised face and busted lip. Behind him was the old draft horse, laden with two children and a severely wounded man.

"Come in, Charles will take care of your horse," the woman urged, looking sternly at her husband as he tried to protest.

"Bless you, ma'am," Bryce muttered gratefully as he helped George off the horse.

The man leaned heavily on him as they went into the house, followed by the two children.

"April! You get started now, and tell May to heat up some beans for these poor men!"

April led them to the guest room Leonardo had been treated in and lit plenty of candles to make the room as bright as she could. In this new light she surveyed the two. Bryce had lain George on the bed before the poor man could collapse, and stood, favoring one foot as he awaited orders from the young woman.

George gave a low moan from his place on the cot, drawing April's attention. She paled at the sight of him, the white sheets already stained in a bloody halo around him. the man's left leg was twisted in an unatural position, shards of bone visible amongst flesh and blood. His middle and chest were smattered in a mix of blood and mud, clothes in tatters.

"Oh my God," she whispered, stepping closer to him. "What happened to him?"

Bryce sighed, looking at the two children, who stood forgotten in the doorway. He nodded for them to return to the parlor they had passed through on the way. When they left, he breathed another sigh and ran a hand across the back of his hand.

"That's what happens to men who walk into canister, ma'am."

"Walk?" April gasped.

Bryce nodded. "Yes. We walk into canister and grapeshot, try to ignore the balls whistling past our ears. Then, under fire, we're ordered to take aim, return fire, reload, shoot again, and repeat until they decide to move us forward more."

April gulped, thinking of the light haversack she had packed and hidden in her room. Maybe she should have listened better to Leonardo before.

Her mother reappeared then, and sat Bryce down in a spare chair in the corner of the small room. She then set to work, peeling the tatters of clothes away from George's wounds. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

_**A/N: Wasn't as long as the last couple chapters, but I honestly didn't really know what to do for this chapter. Anyways, Georgie is back! But for how long? 'Cuz that must suuuuuuck. Will he and Leo get reunited? Will the children fulfill their mission? I'm asking you these questions to make it look like I already have everything planned for the rest of the story. **_

_**REVIEW REVIEW REVIEW!**_


	14. George's Condition

_**A/N: Fourteenth chapter ahoy! In which we see more of George and the kiddos. Not sure what else to say except thank you to all the wonderful people reading the story!**_

_**HannahCake310: Sadly, we still have a ways to go before the children's mission is over. And Georgie still has to recover! It's true, Leo's being a bit dishonest about his name, but I do have something planned for that, you just wait and see. Thanks for always leaving such awesome reviews! They make me happy.**_

* * *

**Chapter Fourteen: George's Condition**

Slowly the fog in his mind receded, and the pain throughout his body flared angrily. George groaned, and tried to change positions to soothe his pain. But the man's arms and legs were like lead. His eyes flickered beneath closed lids as he tried to open them, but they too seemed to be sealed shut. A cool, wet cloth was placed on his brow, soothing the throbbing in his head. George managed to crack his eyes open and met emerald green eyes, framed by a pale white face. The figure moved, and sunlight shone through a window, burning his eyes. He clamped them closed and groaned.

"April, bring in that broth, he'll need to get something in his belly if he's gonna heal," a voice called. "You're extremely lucky, Mister Nells; several times last night we thought we'd lost you."

George tried to open his eyes again, and looked squarely at the woman in front of him. His lips moved inaudibly, and she shook her head.

"Now, you just rest. You won't be walking or talking for a while yet. I imagine you're in quite a bit of pain."

George's head twitched in a nod and he immediately regretted it, the pain returning instantly to his head. It started at the crown of his skull and traveled down his neck and shoulders all the way to his legs. It flared in certain spots down his abdomen and blazed at his left knee. George blinked. His left knee... He couldn't feel anything past it. A cold pit opened in his stomach and fear spread through him worse than the pain.

From his position he couldn't see past his chest, and even if he could, a blanket was pulled up to his shoulders. George gulped visibly, and looked in horror at the woman taking care of him. She looked weary, as if she'd been up all night with him, and there was blood crusted in the hair on her arms. She wasn't looking at him to answer the question written all over his face, but over to the right. George cut his eyes in that direction and saw Bryce sitting in a corner, head in his hands. Light snores shook his shoulders.

A door opened to his left and a girl walked in, carrying a tray laden with three steaming bowls and three mugs. She smiled at him as she set the tray down on a low table beside his cot.

"Good afternoon, Mister Nells," she greeted, taking up a bowl. "How are you feeling?"

The girl recognized that he couldn't speak, and sat beside him on the low cot, spooning out a bit of the broth and blowing the steam away.

"Here, this'll make you feel a bit better- I promise."

She fed him the warm broth, as he couldn't lift his own hands, and talked to him all the way.

"You're lucky you got here when you did, or you would have bled to death out there," she started, nodding over to Bryce and her mother, who was talking quietly to him. "My mother was the one who treated you last night. Mister Wilcoxsin said it was canister that tore you up so bad. Your left leg took the worst of it."

If his left leg was the worst he should be able to feel it, but the furthest the pain travelled was his knee. The fear returned tenfold and George coughed nervously as the girl continued, unaware of his budding panic.

"... She had to amputate it..."

George's eyes widened and he choked, sputtering as he tried to regain his breath. His leg was gone. It was just... Gone! April was startled, and tried to gt some water down him to ease his choking, but George shook his head, scrabbling to sit up and see if what the girl said was true. Her mother came over, scolding as she helped George sit up and propped pillows behind him.

"April! You can't just spring it on him like that," the woman said harshly. "Mister Nells, calm down, it had to be done."

George found his voice.

"M-My leg... _You cut off my leg?! _My God, you cut off my leg!" he panicked, struggling to throw the blanket aside.

"April, go get some chloroform," Martha hissed, pushing George back against the pillows gently.

"Mister Nells, if I hadn't have done it you would have died from poisoning of the blood!"

"Let me see my leg," George grated, looking dangerously up at the woman.

She glared down at him and put a hand on her hip as she drew back the blanket. George gulped as she did and looked down past the clean nightshirt they'd stuffed him in the night before. It came down to the middle of his thighs, past it his right leg continued long and skinny from lack of food and hard marches. His left leg ended at the knee; the skin drawn and stitched tight, burning red and threatening infection. George shook his head as the blanket was gently put back into place.

April came in then with another tray, three bottles, a cup, and a rag on it. Martha took the tray and mixed the contents of two of the bottles in the cup and held it out to George.

"Whiskey and morphine for the pain," she stated simply.

George took it with a shaking hand and gulped the substance down quickly. Martha poured the contents of the third bottle on the rag and held it near his nose.

"Now I want you to breath deeply, Mister Nells; you have to rest."

George did as he was told and within moments was peacefully asleep, sinking softly into the pillows. Bryce stood uneasily from his chair in the corner and limped to his friend's side with the aid of an oak staff. The man patted George's shoulder with a calloused hand and looked down at Martha.

"Will he still make it, Mrs. O'Neil?"

Bryce's weary voice and sullen gaze left little room for dishonesty and Martha pursed her lips and shook her head slowly.

"I don't know. He is strong, I'll give him that. At least three times last night I thought he was gone. But here he is." The woman looked up at Bryce. "Give him until tomorrow. If he's still alive and still strong by then he should make it. Otherwise, Charles will help you dig him a grave."

Bryce frowned uneasily. "That won't be necessary. If Georgie... Doesn't make it... I'm taking his body back to Winchester to be buried on his farm. That's what he asked of me, and I aim to see through to it."

Martha raised an eyebrow. "Winchester's a long way to be dragging a body through battlefields."

The man's gaze turned to stone. "It's my duty ma'am. General Lee says that duty is one of the most important word in the English language; I happen to agree with him on that note, among many others."

Jane had fallen ill during the night and was laid up on the small settee in the parlor, heavy quilts pulled up to her little chin in an effort to keep her warm. James sat on a stool at his cousin's side, worriedly fussing with the ends of the quilt. Jane had to get better- there wasn't anything else to it. May had given her some of the broth, and spooned foul-smelling medicines down the girl's throat, and now she was sleeping uneasily; her breath rattling in her lungs.

"C'mon Jane," James whispered, clutching a handful of the quilt tightly. "You gotta get better so we can find Uncle Leo. Gran'pa Splinter's counting on us. Please get better soon, Jane. I can't go back without you."

The little girl just sighed miserably and curled deeper under the blanket. James sat back in the stool and back at May, who stood with her hands clasped behind her back. She patted his shoulder comfortingly and gave a half smile.

"How about we go out and play in the snow? We won't do her any good fussing while she's asleep, anyways," she offered.

James smiled back and nodded, the two rushing out the door to play in the freshly fallen slow.

* * *

As planned by the children in the later months of 1861, there was a feast prepared and waiting for the three returning brothers. The children had run to their respective fathers screaming a chorus of 'Daddy!' and 'You're home!' Each man took his children up in his arms and kissed their heads, drying the tiny tears of happiness. When the children let them stand again they greeted their wives, embracing them strongly and bearing the second wave of tears.

Nothing was spoken of their two missing that day, but it was evident in the way the men gazed upon the six remaining, and the dark look in Raphael's eyes that all was not well in the Hamato household.

"If they do bring Leo back," Raph rumbled that night, looking seriously at his wife. "I'm gonna kill him."

* * *

_**A/N: I know that wasn't much of a scene for Raph and them, but I'll delve more into that in the next chapter, I promise. Another thing, this'll be the last update I'll put up until at least Sunday- going on a short trip. Sorry, guys! Expect the next chapter sometime early next week, and I'll do my best to make it a long one since you'd have been waiting for days for it.**_

_**Family conflict! Of course there would be some- it's Raph and Leo for Pete's sake! Most of you weren't reading this when I had originally written it, but the whole family conflict ordeal was essentially like in the 2007 movie. Except instead of South America, Leo went to the Southern States.  
I'm also pretty sure that George is gonna kill me for cutting off his leg, but I had to make this difficult somehow. There's the question brewing if he's even gonna make it :O He would definitely kill me for that...**_

_**And dudes... I saw Boo-Ya-Ka-Showdown. Well, parts of it. And I was like 0-0**_


	15. Jake's Error

_**A/N: I am soooooooooooo sorry for the wait, guys! I thought I'd have access to a computer while I was gone but I thought wroooong. Meanwhile I had the greatest time visiting the Alamo again! It's a lovely place ^_^**_

_**I got to see my hero there- a historical artist. I strongly advise you to go look him up at wade dillon art . com (take out all the spaces). He's reeeeeaaally good!**_

_**As always, thanks to my lovely people out there reading and reviewing and all!**_

_**Aster Sapphire: I know what you mean about the leg! But since he's an infantryman I decided to make George's life a whole lot harder. Don't try to slap sense into April- I already tried and she ninja kicked me in the face (stupid Splinter teaching her ninjitsu). I have biiiiiiiiig plans for Raph and Leo in the near future.**_

_**HannahCake310: We all know Raphie-boy likes to assume things *coughcough2007moviecoughcough* He never will learn :P**_

_**Guest: Thank you very much for the review, I'll have some more brotherly action coming up soon.**_

_**Anyways, on with the story! And don't kill me for what might happen.**_

* * *

**Chapter Fifteen: Jake's Error**

"Daddy?"

Donatello looked up and smiled at Annabelle as she approached tentatively, a sheet of paper clutched in her hands. He beckoned her over and lifted her to sit on his knee. The paper was pressed to her chest, hidden carefully from her father's curious gaze.

"What is it, Annie? What've you got there?" he asked, nodding to the creased paper.

"I've been saving it for you and Uncle Mikey and Uncle Raph," she started slowly, peeling back a corner of the page to peek at it without her father seeing. "I drew it after you left."

Donatello gently took the page, eyes widening as he stared at the drawing. It was a charcoal copy of a daguerreotype they had taken before Leo had disappeared, depicting the four brothers and their father. Splinter was seated center in a wood chair, looking directly at the camera. Leo was standing behind him, face more somber than usual, eyes troubled and brow furrowed. In his left hand he clutched Splinter's shoulder. Raph and Don leaned against each side of the chair, and despite society's stance against smiling for photographs, the older man bore a slight smirk as he stared almost sidelong into the camera. Donatello's face was soft and thoughtful. Lastly, Michelangelo sat at his father's feet, eyes twinkling mischievously and lips barely turned upwards in the ghost of a smile.

His daughter was talented certainly, but that wasn't what made his eyes widen. While he, Raph, Mike, and Splinter were penciled definitely on the paper, Leonardo was depicted as a sort of ghost; the strokes light and wispy. He wasn't a part of them. He wasn't there.

"I-it's lovely, Annie," Don stuttered, feeling a bit conflicted. While Leonardo shouldn't have left the way he did, that did not justify the fact that they had shut him out of the family as they had.

"What's wrong Daddy?" Annabelle asked, disappointed.

"Nothing, sweetheart, I love it," Don said strongly, smiling at his youngest daughter.

Anne beamed up at her father and hopped off his knee to return to the picture to wherever she had been hiding it before. Don sighed as he watched her go, thinking of his brother- unaware that two small children were risking their lives to find him, alone and probably lost in the cold. The brainy man shuddered at the thought of it.

* * *

Leo grunted as he saddled his horse. The cold, wet weather made his joints stiff and achy, and sleeping on the ground didn't help. Usually it was O'Connor grumbling about the weather, with Jake laughing and calling him old; but this time Leonardo couldn't help but grit a few choice words for Mother Nature and her fickle ways. Jake snorted behind him, patting the paint stallion he was so proud of.

"Is our captain gettin' too old, Rebel?" the boy asked over his shoulder, the statement clearly directed more towards Leonardo than the horse.

"I most certainly am not, young'un," Leo replied shortly, swinging himself into the saddle. "Now come on- I have the feeling we may just get clothed and fed today."

O'Connor's unit had travelled further northeast, looking for supplies, leaving Leo's behind.

Jake mounted Rebel, and nudged the creature toward where the rest of the men were sleeping or just waking up. Within moments they were roused and saddling their horses, grumbling all the way about aching joints or empty bellies, and generally anything else they could think to complain about. Leonardo chuckled as the company slowly came together around him, their horses fidgeting under them. When they were all mounted and ready he nodded and spurred El Dorado into an easy lope travelling east. The rest of the weary cavalrymen followed quietly, willing their bodies to cooperate.

Many of the men were sick, all were starving. They hadn't had a decent meal since Leonardo and Jake had come back. Today would change that; it had to. Leo looked over at Jake, solemnly staring ahead. The boy's jaw was clenched painfully tight, his lips tinted with the faintest tinge of blue. His coat was threadbare, and he'd taken what was left of his leather boots and roasted them over a fire one night. All that covered his feet were tattered ribbons of a scarf he'd found blowing across a field. But the frozen boy refused to raise the complaint. There were others in the company without even rags to cover their feet; he could endure.

A gust of wind rushed past the cavaliers, stinging them with shards of ice. It would be a long ride. Leonardo's ears were numb, his hat long since disappeared. If he could, he'd get another one.

Half the day, the small band traveled, silently wallowing in their discomfort. Finally, around three in the afternoon, they spied through the trees a short train of Union supply wagons, slowly making their way to some Yankee outfit to the south. The cavalier's all eyed the train hungrily, knowing that it contained food, clothes, coffee, and everything else they had longed for all winter. They knew that if it were allowed to continue on its course, Billy Yank would be in comfort wherever he was bedded down.

Leo turned in the saddle, cut the force in half, and motioned one half of the men to circle around the train's front and cut them off. Jake led them through the snowy forest, riding silently ahead of them. Leonardo could just barely make out the small rodent on the boy's shoulder. When the captain knew th men were in a good position, he led his half around to the rear of the wagons, just hidden in a copse of pines. His belly grumbled in anticipation and he raised his saber in a stiff hand, ignoring the pull in his left shoulder as he did so. The blade fell, and the seven mounted men broke from their cover with a horrific scream. The drivers of the wagons looked back as the rebel yell rose in the still air, and grasped for the rifle's at their sides. The scream sounded a second time and was joined with a few short wails as the other eight raiders bounded through the trees ahead of the train, leveling their pistols at the drivers.

There were about twenty drivers in the train, each with a man riding shotgun. They had the numbers to defeat the raiders, but the Rebels had caught them by surprise. Five of the Union men were dead before the others reacted.

"Come on, boys, let's give 'em hell!"

Leo's head shot up at the cry, and from the eastern side of the train came fifteen more cavalrymen, the leader Stuart himself. The rest of the drivers were killed quickly, without a single casualty for the Rebels. Leonardo came up in front of Stuart and saluted to him.

"What are you doing here, sir?" Leo asked.

"Just out on a ride, Captain, when we heard your cry," the man winked, and turned to one of his staff.

After a few quiet words, the man galloped back the way they had come. Stuart looked back at Leo.

"Lieutenant Mosby's been captured. I want your company to rejoin the main body of the cavalry until we can find someone to replace his command. What's your name, Captain?"

"Lee, sir. Lee Brown," Leonardo replied, glancing over at Jake as he trotted to his captain's side. "And my second in command, Jake Walker."

Stuart nodded. "You bring your company with us, settle them down in camp, and you can give me a report on your progress," he said, and motioned toward the wagons. "Have your boys bring those with you."

Leo nodded and saluted, turning his horse to face his regrouping men. Ten of the horses were hitched to the wagons, and their ten riders took the reins. The remaining men followed as the wagons made their way to the cavalry encampment.

* * *

It felt good to be warm again; or at least as warm as to be expected. The company was clothed in the stolen Union uniforms, the only token showing their alliance being the upside down US belt buckle. Jake brought his shoulders up closer to his face, his dark blue coat coming up around his ears. On his feet were a pair of new shoes. They weren't much, but they separated his feet from the frozen ground, and that was good enough. The boy glanced over as a man sat at his fire. He bit back a groan as he recognized the burly man as one of his tormentors.

"See you ain't got your friends around to hide behind, Peaches," he sneered.

Jake didn't reply, just stared into the fire and steeled himself for the onslaught that was destined to be thrown his way. Martin's tail flicked through his line of vision once, but Jake didn't pay the mouse attention.

"Aw, and you got your little rat too," the man continued.

Jake knew Martin would be bristling with rage.

"Are you gonna answer your superior?"

Jake cut his eyes toward the man. He had been promoted to sergeant. Jake was technically still a private.

"What do you want?" Jake gritted, eyes dark as he glowered at the sergeant.

"I want you to set about making supper for me and my boys," he grinned, and three men flanked him. "Then you'll join us in our tents, little lady."

The sound of Jake's jaws grinding was audible, and his expression darkened further. His hands were inside his coat in an effort to thaw them out; the left one fondled the hilt of a Bowie knife. The four men were laughing and spitting, tossing out lewd comments. The boy's body tensed, his jaw set. He disregarded Martin's warning paw on his neck. The knife slid silently from its sheath.

"Aaauughh!"

The cold pit formed in Leonardo's stomach as he heard the scream. He had left Jake alone, and all the men who had tormented him before were all together in the camp. He knew that the poor boy had something to do with the scream, but did not recognize it as Jake's. Among many others, he rushed over to the source of the scream, and pushed his way through the crowd.

Jake was wrestling with the sergeant's three friends, his bloodied knife tossed near the fire. The sergeant was lying dead on his back, feet kicked out in front of him as if he tried to get away. But the knife had ripped from his forehead to his chin, stabbing again into his chest and slicing through his belly to his navel. Jake's face and hands were covered in blood, eyes wide as he tried to fight off the three big men.

"Break them up!" Leo shouted, shoving past the men in front of him to do just that.

He caught a fist before it slammed into Jake's face, and pulled the man to his feet, bringing him around and shoving him hard onto his backside. By this time four other cavaliers had intervened, one holding both of the sergeant's other lackies and two holding Jake. The crowd parted, revealing Stuart. He studied the scene silently for a moment, his face unreadable.

"Take them to my quarters for questioning," he said darkly. "Find out who that one was and send a letter to his family. Bury him."

The excitement died down, the sergeant's body was dragged away, and dirt kicked over all the blood. Leonardo knew that Jake would face serious penalties for his actions, and knew he could do nothing to save the boy. The sergeant clearly was unarmed, and Jake obviously started the fight.

Leo shook his head, and in the motion caught sight of the bloody knife by the fire. He was slightly surprised no one had taken it yet. The hilt was made of bone, and cool in his hand. The blade measured about nine inches, and was sharp enough to shave with. It was well made and well taken care of. Taking out a rag, Leo wiped the blade clean, and sheathed it in his belt. If Jake got out of this alive, he would want it back.

* * *

_**A/N: Ooooooh, Jake is in a lot of trouble now. **_

_**Guys, you'll have to forgive me- I'm not half as educated in Civil War history as I am in Texas Revolution history. If this story were about that it'd be sooooo much easier to write. I don't know much about Mosby, but I read somewhere that he was captured and briefly imprisoned in 1862, so here we are.**_

_**Don't really know what else to put, so I'll leave it up to y'all to review, and have nice day! Next chapter should be up within the next couple days.**_


	16. More on Jake and George

_**A/N: Sorry guys, it's been a busy weekend. I'll update more regularly throughout the week, but with school starting next week I have no promises after that. I'll stick with the story though, and everything will be fine! **_

_**I Love Kittens too: Thanks for the correction; I just remember them all saying South America in the movie.**_

_**HannahCake310: Thank you for sticking with the story like you do, it means a lot! Hope you enjoy the rest of it as much as you've enjoyed everything so far.**_

* * *

**Chapter Sixteen: And the Plot Thickens... Maybe... I Guess...**

Leonardo couldn't get a moment of Stuart's time for three days after the fight. Every time he tried, he was brushed aside; the colonel was very busy, he was told. Leo scoffed at this, angrily grumbling to himself as he stalked away. Yes, Stuart was busy sentencing his friend to death, is what he was doing! When he finally got to speak with the colonel, the meeting was anything but pretty.

"Colonel, I'm telling you; Private Walker would never kill someone without just cause," Leonardo sighed, exasperated. He had been over this many times.

"Captain Brown," Stuart stated, eyes hard and jaw set. The colonel was through. "Your private murdered a man; a man of higher rank and significantly more value to the army, no less. There were multiple witnesses on the scene to testify that your man did it. He has been given a fair trial and is sentenced to hang in three days. You may think he's innocent; his victim's family will not, the men do not, and I do not. He killed a man and now he is paying the price for it. You are dismissed, Captain."

Leonardo opened his mouth again, but was silenced by Stuart's hard glare. "_You are dismissed, Captain_."

Leonardo gave a sharp, angry salute and marched out of the colonel's quarters, looking up a small crest at a small, heavily guarded tent. He could barely make out the hunched sillhouette of Jake inside, head bent in defeat. Leo approached the tent and met the eyes of the guard that stepped forward to challenge him.

"Who are you?" the fellow asked, raising his gun slightly.

"Captain Brown; I wish to see my man in there," Leonardo replied strongly.

The guard didn't back down. "This murderer is to receive no visitors," he quoted, repeating the words told to him by his superiors.

"I came to see he's being treated fairly. I won't leave until I know he is alright," Leonardo countered, glaring at the guard.

The guard wavered under his steely gaze and stepped back. "You have five minutes."

Jake looked up fiercely as the tent flaps were pulled open, but his expression softened when he recognized his captain. The man was bound tightly to a stake driven deep into the ground, stripped of his belts, gear, and even his boots. The federal kepi that so recently had warmed his head was gone; his golden-brown hair mussed up and dirty. Jake didn't say anything to Leo, just scuttled awkwardly over so his captain had room to sit.

"You doing okay?" Leo asked quietly, sitting by his friend.

"Hear they're to be hangin' me soon," Jake replied just as softly, picking at the dirt under his finger nails.

"I won't let them," Leo whispered vehemently, aware of the ears just outside the tent flaps. "I'll get you out of this, Jake."

The boy sighed and shook his head. "Just forget about me, Lee. I'll just get what's coming to me."

Leonardo grabbed Jake's shoulder roughly, and turned the boy to face him. "How can you say that? How can you let yourself be killed like that? What about your family?"

Jake stared hard at his commander. "What family? All I have is my country; and I've done my duty to the best of my abilities. If I am to die now..." He looked away. "... So be it."

Leo felt a twinge of panic. Jake wasn't going to fight for himself. He was resigned to his fate.

"What about us? Me and O'Connor?"

"Your lives will go on," Jake whispered.

Leonardo's frown deepened, and he silently laid a hand on Jake's shoulder. The boy didn't acknowledge his gesture, so he patted the bony shoulder gently and stood.

"I'm still going to try and get you out of this mess," Leo whispered. "See you soon."

Jake just sighed deeply and nestled himself awkwardly into his coat, thankful they hadn't taken the garment away.

* * *

George stifled a groan as he forced himself into a sitting position. The grey light of dawn was streaming softly through the window of the cottage's spare room. The world was blurry around him, and seemed to be pulsating with the beat of his heart. The man lifted his hands and rubbed his eyes roughly, trying to clear his vision. No one was in the room with him; it was utterly silent. Unable to solidly shift to his left side, he leaned on his right arm and slid his right leg off the cot.

Pain threaded through his body as he put weight on his foot, but George fought it back, standing shakily and using the cot for support. Putting as much pressure as he could bear on his left arm, he made a sort of awkward hop on his right foot. Repeating the motion until he got to the foot of the bed, he pondered how he was going to turn around the corner. His muscles already screamed in protest and his head was spinning. But he had been laid out for too long; he had to get up and rejoin the land of the living.

George tried to swivel around the corner of the cot, putting more weight on his arm and swinging the leg around. Fire spread throughout his shoulder and his arm buckled beneath him, leaving him in a painfully awkward position sprawled across the bed. George hissed and griowled in pain and frustration, scrambling to ease the pressure on his shoulder.

"You sound like a locomotive, Mister Nells."

George cut his eyes to the doorway, where Jane stood. She silently padded into the room and did her best to help the man lay on his back.

"You've heard one before?" George grumbled fighting his way back into a sitting position.

"Of course- my Grandfather took my cousins and I to see one a long time ago."

"Where're you from, kid?" George asked, trying to stand again.

Jane took his left arm. "New York. Me and my cousin James are trying to find our uncle Leo."

George frowned. Leo? Did he know a Leo? "What's his full name?"

"Leonardo Hamato- do you know him?" Jane asked excitedly.

George wracked his brain for a long while. The name sounded so familiar. He repeated it several times, good imagine a smooth baritone voice, a friendly laugh, but could not match a face or an actual person to the name. He shook his head. "I don't."

Jane looked disappointed but helped him to his feet and provided a steady hand to help him into the parlor.

"You look kinda like my old friend Lee Ham, though. I sure wish he was here; he'd be a sight for sore eyes, that's for certain."

* * *

_**A/N: Because I am evil. There seems to be a loooot of bad stuff going on. Wonder how all that shall be solved... Mwahahahahahaha! :D**_

_**Well, feel free to tell me how evil I am or anything else, yada yada yada.**_


	17. Duty

_**A/N: Yes, guys, I AM evil! Mwahahahahahaha! That point aside, here we are for the seventeenth chapter! My longest running story so far... Thanks to all my kind reviewers!**_

_**Aster Sapphire: ^_^ I know what I am**_

_**I Love Kittens too: Yeah, Jake is a brave kid. Unfortunately we see no more of George in this chapter, but he'll be in the next one.**_

_**HannahCake310: Leo really should do something... Read to find out! **_

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**Chapter Seventeen: Duty**

"I won't let it happen."

Leonardo repeated the sentence for the seventh time, glaring hard at Stuart. The colonel was red faced in anger, arms crossed across his chest and jaw set firmly. They had been at this for the past hour and a half, the captain adamant about saving his young friend's life. Leonardo claimed that Jake was the victim of a horrible injustice, that he did it to defend his name, his honor. Stuart would hear none of this. If Jake and the sergeant had a problem they should have addressed it to he or another officer in a peaceful manner and the matter would be resolved. Every man was needed in their cause.

At this, Leo tried to argue that killing Jake would take another man out of the service of the South. Stuart countered with the fact that a murderer was no good to either army, that he would only cause trouble and kill more good men. Now, Leonardo was simply demanding Jake be pardoned, desperate in this last attempt at his friend's life.

_**"I won't let you kill my brother,"**_ he hissed, and stormed out of the colonel's tent. The guards holding Jake prisoner raised their weapons at him, stating firmly that he wasn't to see the boy.

"If you don't get out of my way right now, Privates, I'll put a bullet through your brain," Leonardo growled dangerously at the pair, fondling the pistol at his hip. "I have no problem facing the consequences."

The men cowered, knowing he was serious, and let him pass.

Jake was sleeping, curled into a warm ball; probably the only position his bindings would allow him to lay in. His young face was the picture of peace, features calm and the barest of smiles tugging at his pale lips. He was dreaming, Leo knew, as his eyes twitched under closed lids and his lips quivered as if he were speaking through them. Leo felt tears prick his eyes as he sat near the boy's head, ruffling his hair fondly. How could any one accuse him of murder? He was too young, too innocent. The lines of worry and resignation that had earlier marred his face were wiped away by his peaceful slumber.

"Polly..." Jake murmured, his smile growing. "Polly, go on... Home..."

Leo ran a calloused thumb over the child's smooth cheek, silently wondering who Polly was. A sweetheart, maybe? A little sister? Jake had never spoken of either. Maybe she was a childhood friend? Another person that would never see him again if Leo were to allow them to string him up.

"I'll keep you safe, Jake. I will." Leo whispered to the boy, pulling his great coat off and draping it over his sleeping form.

Jake's brow furrowed and the smile faded. "No, Polly... Don't... You'll..."

Leonardo bent closer to the boy, trying to hear his faint murmurings. He was obviously distressed, brow knitted in worry for the girl in his subconscious vision.

"...Break it..."

The last words were whispered, gasping in horror. Tears started spilling down Jake's cheeks and he shook quietly, whispering 'no, no, no,' over and over like a mantra. Leo felt his own tears slipping down his face and dripping onto his pant's legs. He didn't cry for Polly, but for Jake. The boy who'd suffered so much for an unfeeling, unknowing cause. Who'd travelled, in his lifetime, thousands of miles, all for the honor of a sinister, cunning place. Who'd given his blood, sweat, and tears for Texas.

Leonardo had hated Texas. Many men dropped like flies in the summer heat, or their horses were poisoned by minerals in the water. It was beautiful land, but was cursed. Much blood was spilt over its land and presumed riches. There were droughts and blizzards and twisters and hurricanes, but men flocked there in droves. It was a death trap.

But Jake loved it as if the land had personally birthed, fed, clothed, and raised him. As if all of life's secrets were spilled by that ancient, cursed land. Texas was the most beautiful place his mind could possibly image, the most fertile, caring, wealthy mother ever to nurture. Jake's mindless devotion to the place surpassed all else, his own life included.

That was another reason for Leonardo to despise it.

"Lee?"

Leonardo was broken from his reverie, and his eyes locked on the soft, stormy gaze of his close friend.

"I'm here, Jake."

The boy breathed a relieved sigh and awkwardly sat up. He was still drowsy, and half leaned on Leo for support until his head cleared. Confusion clouded his features as he felt the wetness on his cheeks, and when he looked up at Leonardo for an explanation, his eyes widened and he paled considerably.

"Lee... You're..." Jake's voice sounded small and he tilted his head to the side as he watched small tears streak down his captain's face.

Leo did his best to wipe his tears away, and they slowly stopped.

"I was... Just worried," he said, flustered.

"Don't be worried about me, Lee," Jake admonished with a tiny smile. "I'm fine."

"But you won't be tomorrow; you'll be swaying up in one of those oaks," Leo argued.

Jake sighed. He knew what was coming. He wasn't sure what it would be like, but he knew what would happen. They'd sit him up on a horse, hands tied tightly in front or behind him, with the rope around his neck. When they slapped the horse out from under him, he'd drop like a sack of rocks, breaking his neck. If he was lucky. There was always the chance that the rope wouldn't be tied correctly; that he would slowly suffocate. The boy shuddered.

"You know, Lee?"

"What's that?"

"I been to the Alamo once before. I mean, I know it ain't like it was... But when I was there... You could feel 'em. In the walls, in the air, in the clay. They were there. Still under siege."

Leo had heard about the massacre there; he was ten when it happened, and had interrogated Splinter for hours on why the men had stayed at the fort, why no one would help them, and why they were fighting in the first place. At that time he had wanted to be there, to have helped them. His opinion had changed since then, especially since marching through Texas.

"I think they were fools," Leo said honestly, drawing idly in the dirt.

Jake frowned. "I think they were the bravest men on the face of the earth. I wish I'd served better; I wish I'd sacrificed myself for my home."

Leo shook his head, and changed the subject. "I'm gonna get out out of this, Jake. You're going to go free, you'll see Texas again, and all your old pals too."

The words were barely above a whisper, and as they were spoken, Leo silently put a small knife in Jake's hand. The boy stared at the glimmering blade, turning it over in his hand. He reached out and grabbed Leonardo's wrist lightly and placed the small knife back in the older man's palm. He turned away, awkwardly curling against his restraints.

"Dammit, Jake!" Leo hissed, deftly slicing the ropes binding the boy's hands and feet. "Run! Go! El Dorado is saddled just behind the tent, _take him!"_

Jake looked at the severed ties, and up at Leo. His gaze then wandered to the back wall of the tent. Jake stretched; arms, legs, toes, fingers, back and neck all popping loudly in a grotesque manner as he worked the kinks out. Leonardo was ready to shove the boy out of the tent and into the saddle.

"Lee." Jake's tone was even and his gaze was hard. "Unsaddle your mount. Tie me back up. Go find something to eat and forget about me. I know what awaits me. I am prepared to meet my fate. Follow your own path and leave me to mine."

"I'm not going to tie you back up and if you don't get out there and on that horse I'll throw you out and into the saddle! You were the victim of that fight! You don't deserve to be killed."

Jake growled. "I murdered a man. I deserve death. Leave now."

Leonardo was about to retort when Jake shoved him roughly, shouting,_** "Get!"**_

The guards rushed in at the boy's cry and pinned him to the ground, tying him again. One grabbed Leo forcefully by the shoulder and shoved him out of the tent and towards Stuart's.

"Colonel Stuart, sir!" he shouted. "This'un was tryin' to help Walker escape!"

Stuart growled. He wouldn't give up, would he? "Leave us."

"Captain Brown, I believe it's time you and your men moved out. If you are still in the area by nightfall I'll have you all arrested."

* * *

The band of raiders was moving south, to Richmond. O'Connor had rejoined with twenty fresh men, and had been told of Jake's trial and arrest. Leonardo and his men had been marched out of the area when the captain refused to leave without his man. He didn't witness the hanging. O'Connor was angry at the situation, and mourned the boy quietly. But war was war and life went on.

"War is war," the Irishman said. "We'll all die eventually. Duty is duty and ours hasn't been fulfilled yet; Jake's has. He faced his consequences like a man and for that I'm proud. We'll meet him again, Lee. And he'll greet us with open arms."

* * *

_**A/N: Yes, still quite evil. I know, you're all killing me mentally. Next chapter is gonna be fast forward quite a few months because I'm lazy. There'll be a flashback so you can see what happened to George and them during that time.**_

_**REVIEW!**_


	18. Uncle Leo?

_**A/N: Yes guys, I know I'm evil and you're all mad at me, but I kept my promise; I haven't killed any of the turtles. Jake was not one of the brothers. And if you guys stick with the story you'll get a bit surprise in later chapters. We're finally looming toward another battle... It's August now, and we know what that means! Well, most of us do... Can you guess? Huh, huh?**_

_**For the record, Leo did not 'Ride Around McClellan' with Stuart. He was still picking on small Yankee forces because I didn't want to go into detail on the ride, and do you really think Leo would ride with Stuart just a few months after he ordered Jake's death?**_

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**Chapter Eighteen: Uncle Leo?**

"Captain, he's following us again."

Leo glanced over at the scout, didn't recognize him. Since April, a single cavalryman had been on their tail, staying just out of range. He wore a blue uniform, but at this stage of war that didn't matter. Rebs were dressed as Yankees, Yankees in ratty uniforms, a lot of them near naked. No scout could ever trap him to bring him back. He seemed to vanish, his jet-black mount nothing more than a flitting shadow on a silent night. It made Leonardo uneasy. The cavalry captain glanced up at the sky. The clouds were dark and angry, heavy with rain. Thunder rumbled quietly in the distance. If the mystery man was going to make a move, call a surprise attack, it would be hard to fight in the slick mud.

His gaze wandered up the hill that loomed ahead of them. If they were atop that hill... It would be impossible for his small band of raiders. Leo motioned for the scout to climb the hill ahead of them and check it. Something flicked in his peripheral vision.

A short, stocky shade stood concealed in the trees, light reflecting in his eyes and on the mud smeared across his face. For a moment, it was impossible to distinguish the man from his surroundings, but after a brief moment he shifted ever so slightly to the right. Leonardo took a slight step in his direction, turning his head to the side but keeping his gaze locked on the mystery man. The man shrank back deeper into the shadows, all but disappearing. Leo inched his way closer, his movements near inperceivable.

"Still chasin' shadows?" O'Connor asked, looking directly at the shade. Leo knew the question was directed at him. O'Connor shook his head, letting his gaze break away from the shadow man. "Ye won't catch him. He's a phantom. A demon to make your sleep uneasy and your stomach nervous."

The shade disappeared when Leo glanced over at his Irish friend. When the captain failed to find the figure again, he sighed deeply. "I know. But I can't help trying."

"Maybe it's Jake," O'Connor laughed. "Keepin' us safe."

Leo frowned. Maybe it was Jake exacting his revenge for not saving his life.

"Don't think about it that way, Lee," O'Connor glared. The Irishman had a way of knowing what Leonardo was thinking. "You did everything you could, but he decided to face the consequences on his own."

Leo wasn't convinced. "Let the men bed down. It'll be storming soon. I'm going for a ride."

O'Connor's brow furrowed and he folded his arms. "Don't get yersel' hurt, mate. Come back safe."

Leonardo raised a hand in acknowledgement as he spurred El Dorado.

The horse thundered down the easy slope they'd climbed that day, running alongside the tree line. His rider's gaze was fixed on the dark forest, searching in vain for the shadow man. He thought he could hear the phantom horse's hooves pounding hard into the soft earth, could see small sparks as one of them struck a stone. But the sound slowly started to seem more and more like the echo of El Dorado's steps, the sparks seeming more like fireflies twinkling. Disappointment filled Leonardo. He slowed his mount to a trot and turned into the forest, knowing of a small creek that ran through it.

With his eyes still searching for the shade, he let El Dorado find his own way to the trickling water source, trusting the horse's instincts and senses. There was a break in the tree line where the stream cut through, and the moon shone through a small gap in the clouds. The algae growing at the creek bed was illuminated by the moonlight, setting the whole stream aglow. It seemed a magic sight.

Leo slid out of the saddle and cupped his hands under the water, bringing them up to his lips. The water was cold and crisp, a delightful change from the heat of mid August. A rustle in a nearby bush and the sound of a rifle cocking made Leonardo snap to attention, slowly drawing his pistol and leaning closer to his horse.

"If you value your life, you'll put that pistol aside and step away from the horse. Real slow like, too, with your hands up above your head."

Leo froze. He knew that voice. But still unsure of the man's identity, he did as he was told, tossing his pistol some paces to the left of him and raising his hands.

"Grab your horse's reins and cross that creek. No bravery now, this rifle's trained on your belly."

Leo hesitated, and called in a guarded voice. "I believe we're on the same side here. You sound Southern to me."

The man stilled, and Leonardo felt waves of uncertainty wash over him from across the creek. He smiled inwardly.

"Lee?"

Leo gulped.

"Lee... Lee Ham! I knew it was you!"

George laughed and crept out of the bush, leaning on the rifle for support. Leo crossed over and embraced his old friend strongly, smiling brightly in the low light.

"Georgie Nells! Haha! Good to see you, old man!" he laughed, patting George on the back.

"I ain't old an' you know it, Lee Ham," George replied, "and you ain't seein' all of me anyways."

Leonardo's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

The crippled man shifted, awkwardly side stepping and revealing his left leg; or what was left of it. Leo frowned, shaking his head.

"Oh no... What happened to you, George?"

George laughed at Leo, the cavalryman's face the picture of worry. George shook his head and patted Leo on the shoulder, noticing the grimace that flicked across the man's face as he did.

"Seems we both have stories to swap, Lee. Grab your mount and foller me; I gots coffee and company and even a warm fire to dry your pants on."

George had grown quite nimble with the stump of a leg he had, scuffling as fast as he could walk before with little hindrance. His friend followed at an easy pace, leading the horse. Soon, through the trees he could see the subtle glow of a small fire. The camp was oddly silent for George to have company with him. Suddenly there was a short, young laugh, and Leo froze.

"George? Who's that in your camp?"

George pursed his lips in thought. "Now, what was that young feller's name... James, or Jack... Jake, maybe?"

Leo's heart leapt into his throat. "Jake? You've found a boy named Jake? Jake Walker?"

George shook his head. "No... Dad blame it, I can't remember that kid's name! I guess I am gettin' old, Lee."

Leo pushed gently past the confused cripple and to the camp, heart thudding wildly in his chest. Jake... Could it really be Jake? Had Jake led him here?

The anticipation near drove Leonardo mad, and finally he and George broke through the last bramble bush and were in the small camp. At the fire sat a child, around twelve years old. No Jake. The hope that had been steadily rising in Leonardo's chest was crushed, and the man sighed.

There was a small gasp, and suddenly the child stood. He had amber eyes and dark hair... Sharp features... Leo had to do a double take.

"...Uncle Leo?"

An icy feeling travelled through the cavalryman. No one called him Leo, but his wife. His wife, and... His brothers must be here somewhere. And surely they weren't in the Confederate army. The icy feeling intensified, and Leo knew he was afraid. Afraid for his brothers' lives. There would be nothing he could do to save them, and they wouldn't save him from the other Yankee troops; not that he needed them to.

"Uncle Leo, is that you?"

George silently watched the cavalryman crouch in front of the New Yorker, staring deep into the child's eyes. The name seemed to come to Leonardo then.

"James? You're James, correct?"

The boy nodded.

"Why... Why when I left, you weren't but a pup. How old are you now?"

"Twelve, sir."

"Are you our Uncle Leo?"

"I-I am," Leo croaked. "Where is your father?"

James laughed and threw his arms around his uncle's neck. "We finally found you! Gran'pa Splinter sent us to look for you! He was _real_, _**real**_ sick and wanted you to come home, so me an' Jane set out to find you, and we did! Haha!"

"Where is your father?" Leo repeated. "Where is Raphael? And Michelangelo and Donatello?"

James shrugged. "They're fighting in the army, like you."

Leo glanced down at his dark uniform. James thought he was a Yankee. The thought sickened him. The boy probably thought he could just leave and go find his brothers, then go home like nothing ever happened. He didn't know that this Uncle was on the other side, that Leo was fighting against his own _brothers._ Leonardo's stomach flipped over and he swallowed the urge to vomit.

"Y-you said someone else came with you. Jane? I don't remember a Jane." Leo's words were quick, and ran together. He didn't care. He might be killing his own brothers in a matter of days, what did this tiny confrontation matter?!

"She's one of Uncle Mikey's and Aunt Mary's twins," James explained. "But she got sick... She stayed behind at Mrs. O'Neil's house."

Leo felt light headed. Two children had traveled from New York to find him and take him all the way back in the middle of a war, where he was fighting against his own family. He sat heavily down, trying to wrap his head around things.

"Maybe you oughtta explain, Jimmy boy. Seems your Uncle's a bit out of sorts," George said gently, laying a hand on the boy's shoulder.

James sat and explained everything from the beginning, until the part where they helped George to April O'Neil's. Then George took over.

_When George had healed sufficiently, Jane suffered a relapse. The girl was bed-ridden, with the older women of the O'Neil household taking care of her. George confessed to Mr. O'Neil that he had to return to his duty, and take Bryce with him. The old man wasn't exactly happy with that statement, Bryce having been useful on the small farmstead, but he knew George's duty and the Confederacy were intertwined. He allowed the two men to leave, with a sack of provisions each._

_They hadn't gotten far when James appeared, and after much argument it was agreed that he could tag along in search of his missing Uncle, though he might not live if George or Bryce found him first. They travelled back into Virginia, and had been on the road several weeks when Bryce was shot down by a Yankee spy. After burying the man, George and James continued alone, trying to find the Stonewall Brigade._

"And now here we are," George finished, crossing his arms over his chest.

Leonardo's head was buried in his hands. He huffed a great sigh and looked at George.

"Take him to Margaret, tell her to send a letter to my family near Brooklyn, New York. Let them know where their children are."

"Now Lee, I can't do that! I have to find Jackson!" George protested. "Take a furlough and visit your wife yourself."

"George." Leo said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Jackson won't take a one-legged man and you know it. Take James to Margaret and your wife, _please_."

George knew Leo was serious, and sighed. "I'll do it."

* * *

_**A/N: Not sure what to say now. Just review please.**_


	19. Campaigning

_**A/N: Guys, I apologize profusely; I had no free time this weekend and school started today. I haven't forgotten this story and am determined to get through it, but I'll have to keep a slower pace so as not to clash with my every day schedule. Expect the next chapter in a few days, and I promise there'll be a big battle in it (Second Manassas/Second Bull Run to be exact).**_

_**In this chapter you'll get some action and some domestic scenes, I hope you all enjoy it. And the big surprises I promised in the end might vary in size for each of you...**_

_**Aster Sapphire: Yeah, they found him- but their mission still isn't done! They haven't brought him home yet, remember?**_

_**Guest: I hope you're enjoying the story :)**_

_**HannahCake310: Gotta say, I mostly keep updating this for you; you and Aster Sapphire give the greatest reviews, and they always make my day. Thanks for sticking with it so long, and I'm glad Jake's character was so lovable for you.**_

_**Guys, please make sure to read the author's note at the end of the chapter, I have an important question for you guys. But for now, see you later, enjoy the story, and review!**_

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: Campaigning**

Leonardo's raiders joined the whole of the cavalry within a couple of days of his meeting with George. Leo kept a good distance between himself and Stuart, ill feelings from months before rising closer to the surface the longer he saw the man's heavily bearded face. O'Connor, however, seemed to have no ill will against the cavalry commander, and remained the friendly man he always was.

"Will ye come to the bow'r..." The song dripped lowly, sung much slower than it was supposed to have been and without much tune.

Leo glanced over at O'Connor. He seemed exhausted, and it wasn't like O'Connor to not really sing a good song. He slowed El Dorado just enough to be level with his Irish friend.

"You alright?"

O'Connor shook his head with a humorless laugh; the absence of lighthearted-ness rather disturbing. "Are any of us, Lee? Look'it this lot. We been rode hard 'an put up wet, Lee darlin'. C'n we last much longer?"

Leo frowned, unease turning over in his gut. Then he realized he was sick too. Perhaps the whole of the cavalry was. They'd vomit most of what they ate, and their stomachs would turn over rebelliously. Some men were doubled over, unable to ride. There were men complaining of splitting headaches, varying levels of coughing fits, and many torn up with diarrhea. It was a sorry sight to see so many scrawny men puking their guts out, or hunched over their saddles in a state of delirium. The working pace that the horses were put at did nothing to help the suffering cavaliers. Even now, a fierce migraine rent its rath upon Leonardo's skull.

How long _could_ they last in conditions such as these?f the men weren't able to ride, how in the world would they be able to fight? If things didn't start turning around soon, they'd all be meeting their Maker. Slowly, the columns started to slow to a stop, and they were ordered to make camp. Leo thanked God for the break.

Asking around, Leonardo found them to be near Mount Pisgah Church. Stuart's cavalry was supporting the Second Corps, commanded by General Jackson. For the first time in a very long time, he found a scrap of paper and a charcoal stick to write with. Just as he sat down to write, he heard a sniffle. Glancing over, the cavalier saw a boy not eighteen years old, staring glumly at his hands as they rested on top of his knees.

"What's wrong, private?" Leo asked, not recognizing the boy.

The kid grumbled a bit and kicked the dirt softly with a worn boot. "My ma's been real sick lately, and she's worried about me, and with my brother shot down during the Seven Days', and the baby..."

He held a crumpled letter in his left hand.

"Why don't you write back to her on the back of her letter?" Leo asked.

The boy flashed the paper. Every available space was filled. They'd done that multiple times. Leonardo sighed and looked down at his small piece of paper. After a moment he rubbed out where he'd started to write and handed it to the kid. A brilliant smile graced the boys features and he thanked Leonardo profusely, eyes aglow as he hastily started scribbling his message to his mother in as small a script as could be read. Leo was glad to give his letter up for the boy's, but a dull ache formed in his chest as he thought of Margaret. He hadn't been able to get word to her since last seeing her in January. The wistful expression on his face turned sour and he stood, absently kicking aside a stone as he passed.

The cavalry remained in that area for five days, and on the twentieth set out with Stonewall. The Rapidan coursed quickly in their path, and was forded at Somerville Ford. The lad Leo had sacrificed his paper for rode alongside him that day, With O'Connor on the opposite side. His name was David Wearely, from North Carolina. The feeling of riding with the youth and the Irishman was akin to that of riding with Jake, but the boy didn't seem to have the same spirit that their deceased friend had sported so gamely. Young David was nowhere to be found the next day as they marched in the direction of Beverly Ford on the Rappahannock. From across the ford there could be spotted Federal troops, and firing opened up between their batteries and that of Jackson's.

Leonardo crossed the ford with a small portion of Stuart's cavalry and the aid of a couple guns, the screaming Yankees passing and falling all in a blur to the raider as he rode through them. His sword glimmered in the sun, blood staining the beautiful blade as he mowed men down like so many blades of grass. The pistol at his hip saw little action compared to the trusty saber.

"Lee! Duck, you fool!"

Leo hunched low in the saddle, near El Dorado's neck as a ball whistled past where his head had been. He made a note to thank O'Connor later, and stared into the eyes of a young Yankee boy as the glimmering blade in his hands ripped through the lad's throat. A brief glimmer of guilt washed across Leo's face as blood sprayed from the kid's neck. He was a blue-eyed, curly blond-haired lad, only in his early twenties. Leonardo was reminded of a time in Mexico, the same thing almost happened to Michelangelo; but Leo had stopped the soldier in time. No one stopped Leonardo as the blade followed through in its movement, nearly cleaving the kid's head off his body as it came up and around to slash another across the forehead.

It didn't take long for the air to be tainted by the stench of battle. Smoke clouded everyone's vision and stung their eyes; discharge from the many firearms on the field. The hazy grey-yellow substance snaked its way across the field. From his position atop El Dorado, Leo had things a little better than those on foot, but he still had a bit of trouble seeing far past the third soldier back in the columns. Another man fell by his blade, and another still by his pistol. Leonardo looked up as he thrust his pistol back in his belt, its chambers empty. Through the wisps of smoke he glimpsed a man with straight dark hair, his face eerily calm for the battle raging, and yet his eyes blazing with excitement. The raider felt his heart stop as he recognized the sharp face, but the man was lost to sight a second later. Leo calmed himself as he forced his way out of the line he was in, and wheeled El Dorado around in an attempt to spot the plume of Stuart's hat. It was lost among the fray, but Leo did find O'Connor.

Several shots came dangerously close to Leonardo's head, singing his hair as they sped by, and a few times he felt the tug of a bullet going through his coat. But by some miracle, the day yielded no major injuries. He would be extremely sore on the morrow, and had a few bruises and small cuts, but he could face anything the coming day brought.

After several hours of skirmishing, Stuart's cavalry crossed back over the Rappahannock, reporting that Federal forces were moving in strength towards his position. The cavalry brought back several prisoners, and arms that had been plundered from the dead and wounded, or picked up from where they'd been hastily dropped in some retreat or another. Soon, the Yankees appeared again on the opposite bank of the river and firing commenced between the Federal artillery and the batteries of a General Taliaferro's command. Jackson's forces continued up the Rappahannock the next day and crossed one of its tributaries at Wellford's Mill. Several short skirmishes marked the twenty-second, and word was given that a large Federal force had crossed the Rappahannock.

On the 24th, Leo saw more action as Stuart took his cavalry again across the river to attack the enemy's rear. Again his blade sang through the air, and drank deeply the blood of those hated Yankees. This time around, Leonardo stuck close to O'Connor, and in a sense the pair watched each other's back that night at the Federal encampment at Catlett's Station. Together they were a mighty force, riding and shooting and killing in unison, expertly dodging bullets and blades. This time around though, Leo was more hesitant. he paused a brief second before he cut each man down, scanning their faces. Seeing nothing of his brothers, the man convinced himself he had only imagined Raphael to be on the field some days ago. It was probably because of that boy he'd cut down that looked like Mikey. That was all. Since convincing himself of this fact, Leo found himself more at ease in his bloody business. Again he and O'Connor were delivered safely from battle and the next day, as General Jackson's forces continued his march, they were side by side in the column of cavalry.

They rejoined Jackson's forces at Gainesville, having left Waterloo Bridge at 2 A.M. and rapidly marched to offer assistance to the famed 'Stonewall'. They kept on Jackson's right flank the rest of the day.

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_**A/N: Like I said, I promise to get in Second Manassas in the next chapter, and I'll try to make it longer. But with school and all, it might be a few days. Hang with me guys, we're over half way through 1862!**_

_**And a quick question for you guys reading. Obviously if I've held you for this long you must like history to some extent. What would you do if a teacher's subject was your state history, and the teacher decided to leave out a key portion in that history? I don't mean a small detail, I mean a BIG THING. And the teacher decides to leave it out like it's nothing. Give me your thoughts please! **_

_**And for the record, a ton of the information in this chapter was gleaned from Stonewall Jackson's report of this, the Second Manassas Campaign. **_


	20. Decisions

**_A/N: Forgive my absence, guys! I've been busy beyond belief! _**

**_HannahCake310: Don't worry, Leo didn't kill Mikey; the fella he killed was just a kid who happened to have similar features. Keep reading the story, and I promise I'll make Jake's death up to you in later chapters; hang in there! Thank you for all your praise and your continued reading; it means a lot._**

**_I Love Kittens too: Thanks!_**

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**Chapter Twenty: Decisions**

_A river, freezing cold and ice-crusted on the banks. Rocks jutted through the water, shining in their wetness. A freezing wind blew from the north, carrying tiny snowflakes and ice shards. The fire was small, and with each powerful gust of wind it threatened to die. The smell of coffee flooded Leonardo's senses and settled over the camp like a splendid wreath. With the next gust of wind the smell was gone and his belly rumbled. Across the river somewhere was the Federal army, and the scent of their coffee had drifted downward. Leo's gaze wandered the opposite bank carefully, looking for the faintest trace of movement. There! A blue coat! The man was glancing across the river as he was, and Leo stood stiffly and limped to the edge of the river, raising a hand at the Yankee in peace._

_"That coffee in your hands, Billy Yank?"_

_"Could be, Johnny. Got any 'baccy in one of those pouches?"_

_"I do, Billy," Leo replied, masking the excitement in his voice carefully. He hadn't had coffee in weeks. "You'll have to come over here to get it."_

_The Yank scoffed, shaking his head. Leo could see blond curls that swayed gently under the bill of the Yank's kepi as the wind changed direction. "I rather like being in one piece. Why don't you come over here for your coffee?"_

_It was Leo's turn to scoff. "And have to wade through __**that?**__" Leo gestured toward the river._

_"One of us has to."_

_"We'll meet in the middle," Leo compromised, hoping he hadn't lost his chance at the delicious drink he so craved._

_Billy started to move toward the river, carefully choosing his way among the rocks and tiny dunes in the bank. He took a tentative step into the water, and waited a moment while his foot adjusted to the new temperature. The black water swirled around his ankles as he stepped further into the torrent. Leo chose the slippery rocks carefully, hoping to evade the water as long as possible. The water stood at their mid-thighs in the middle of the river; it was a nice shallow area. Both men looked up from choosing their steps, and locked eyes. The coffee cup was lost to the slowly coursing river, its contents mixing with the dark water. Baby blue orbs locked with golden pools._

_"Leo...?"_

_A wave of emotions washed over the eldest of the Hamato clan as he stared into the eyes of his baby brother. Was Mike really there? It had to be him... No one else knew his real name. His baby brother was in front of him, after so many years. A scruffy beard had made its home on the man's face, darker than the rest of his hair. Lines were etched into his fair face. This baby brother was looking more like a grown man. _

_"Leo..." _

_Again, the simple word commanded a fresh surge of emotions. Happiness, guilt, frustration, despair... How he loved seeing this long lost kinsman, but oh how he wished their predicament would change._

_"Leo!"_

_Long arms were wrapped tightly around his neck in a crushing embrace. Leonardo absently hugged his brother back, too shocked for words. He noticed a wetness on his face and found himself crying like a child scared of a thunderstorm. Whether they were tears of happiness or distress it was hard to tell._

_Leo could hear footsteps on the shore behind him. _

_"Lee?"_

_The voice was unmistakable, and terribly worried. Jake and O'Connor stood on the banks of the river, just barely touching the water as they watched the strange scene before them. Mikey pulled away from his brother as he spun around to see the youth; he was clearly surprised. His blue gaze wandered back to the two men on the shore. A boy and a man, both worried for the man in his embrace. _

_They were clothed in worn butternut brown trousers and cadet blue jackets, deep blue overcoats hanging limply around their soldiers. The flag planted in the soft earth near the river was filled with wind, and striking in its majestic boldness. A deep red banner, marked with a blue 'X' that bore thirteen stars. The rebel flag. Mike looked at Leo. He was dressed in a Union cavalry officer's uniform, but looking at his waist a bright US buckle shone merrily; it was upside down. _

_Horror crossed Michelangelo's face as the pieces came together, but after a moment of thought the expression softened and he embraced his brother again. Leo had yet to speak a word, but was still shocked beyond belief and was staring over Michelangelo's shoulder. Don was halfway between them and the bank, with Raphael staring from the shoreline. They beckoned him over silently, and when Mikey pulled away he joined them, pleading with Leonardo to cross._

_"Lee?"_

_Again, the young voice travelled weakly to the center of the river. There was a splash, and Jake stood in a quicker section of the river, wavering as the water rushed past his calves. Confusion marred his features, eyes begging for answers. The boy's head was tilted to one side, his gaze shifting between his friend and the strange Northerners across from him. Leonardo looked back at the youth, longing to talk to him after so many months. He was supposed to be dead._

_"Leo?"_

_He looked back at his brothers. They needed him._

_He lifted one slowly numbing foot and planted it in the mud a step closer to the opposite bank. Another step._

_"Lee!-" the cry was broken off with a strangled cry, followed by strangled gasps and a large splash._

_Leonardo's head shot around, where he spotted Jake on his knees in the rushing water, his pale face slowly taking on a blue tint as he struggled to breath. Concern flooded Leo's senses as his body turned to the poor boy. One shaking hand was reaching out for him, the other clawing at Jake's throat as he tried ridding himself of the invisible noose constricting him. The water was slowly trying to drag him away._

_"H-el-p," he pleaded between gasps, voice soft and desperate._

_"Leo!?"_

_They were in trouble, he knew. Jake was being strangled. Leo could not move to either one. The black mud gave way and captured his boot-clad feet. The water rose slowly, gaining speed. The mud released Leonardo, and as Jake's gasps turned to low gurgles, he raced to the boy's side, grabbing him by the shoulders and hoisting him up to his feet. Leo wrapped his arms around the boy and clutched him to his chest, not knowing how to save him. _

_"Lee..." _

_The whisper was lost to the rapid water, and as Leo pulled Jake's small, still form away, he paled. The boy's face was dark blue, tingeing black near his neck. His eyes were still open, but there was no sparkle to them. They were hollow, and a deep stormy grey; the light reflecting off the dark water and lending its color to the formerly blue pools. No steamy breath puffed from Jake's parted lips; no pulse thumped softly in his neck._

_"Leo!"_

_Two shots. Two splashes. Two brothers fell dead. The third stalked angrily through the river, advancing on the eldest. _

_"You fuckin' bastard."_

_Leo solemnly stared at Raphael, tears of loss and confusion pricking his golden eyes. How did this all happen?_

_"You left us, you join the army __**against**__ us, and now you choose that Rebel runt over yer own __**brothers!**__"_

_Leo shook his head, eyes wide. What was this?_

_"You're a traitor, Leo! A God-damned bastard traitor that ain't worth the salt in his pork!" Raphael accused, drawing a short knife._

_Leo's arms still were loosely clasped around his young friend. He looked in horror as the blade flashed and sang. His cheek stung, blood trickling down it slowly. Leo didn't move._

_"Choose, Leo!" Raphael screamed. "Who are your brothers?! Who's your __**family?**__**Where is **__**your home?!**_"

_Raphael's voice grew in volume, until Leonardo was positive he could be heard in distant California. Under any other circumstances the eldest Hamato brother would have spoken up and defended his honor; but the events had flabbergasted him beyond reason, and he just stood, clutching Jake's corpse and staring at his younger brother. Before Raphael could strike again, O'Connor appeared, and caught the angry man's blade with his saber, flicking it aside expertly and pushing his friend behind him defensively._

_Raphael stood his ground, ignoring the Irishman. "What's it gonna be, Leo?"_

_"Lee?" O'Connor asked over his shoulder. _

_"Lee?"_

"Lee!"

Leo was shoved roughly awake by the Irishman. He groaned and turned over on his side, legs gently tapping El Dorado. His head was fuzzy and his muscles sore, his stomach churning violently. Another groan; of all days to be sick. Bile rose quickly in his throat, and the sparse contents of his stomach were emptied on the ground before him. O'Connor clucked in his throat, earning a look from El Dorado, and helped Leo shakily to his feet.

"Drink this, Lee, and ye'll feel like a bonny schoolgirl by the battle."

The foul liquid was poured unceremoniously down his throat, and nearly made him wretch again, but the brawny Irishman clamped a hand to his mouth and bade him hold it down.

His stomach _did __**not **_feel better by the battle. The quick motions of his horse on the field churned his stomach even more, and there was no one to claim that he _did __**not**_ have vomit running down the front of his uniform since the first charge. The stench of gunpowder and blood increased his discomfort, and the constant boom of cannon and the screams and whistles and cracks of muskets all formed a giant spike ramming through his skull. O'Connor, knowing his friend's vulnerability, stuck close by his side, more than once warning him in advance and blocking knives and sabers as they sang toward the disoriented man.

By midday, Leo was sagging in the saddle, his sword sheathed and pistol hanging uselessly in his grasp. O'Connor rushed him back behind the lines, leaving him in the care of a medic and galloping back into the fray. El Dorado was taken care of by a middle aged man, and grazed calmly under an oak tree, grateful for the relief.

When the day was called to a close, O'Connor found his friend lying in a small cot near the medic's tent, dead to the world. His breath rose and fell steadily, face still pale but now tingeing yellow.

"I don't know if he'll be up for anything tomorrow," the medic said, coming up behind the Irishman. "He's bad off."

O'Connor nodded sagely. "I'll make sure he doesn't do anythin'. Do ye know what ails him?"

But the medic was gone, bourne away on the cries of wounded men. O'Connor prepared himself for a long vigil.

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_**A/N: IMPORTANT, GUYS, READ IT**_

_**I've been extremely busy lately, which is why this story is sooo many days late. I'm gonna put it to the vote; Should I keep trying to post like I've been posting (as I write), or should I finish it up and post the chapters one by one AFTER I'm finished?**_

_**I REALLY NEED YOUR OPINIONS!**_

_**Moving on, I'm enjoying myself way too much with these dream sequences. To recap, in all of them there's been the crucial fact that Leo has had to make a decision with his blood brothers and his best friends and comrades. This will be very important later.**_

_**And for the record, just because Jake is dead doesn't mean I have to just cut him form the story! He was a critical part of Leo's life, and I won't just drop him. (He's my baby XD)**_

_**I know I didn't go into into detail on the battle, but I had to get this posted. Just be patient with me guys, please!**_


	21. Lying Restless

_**A/N: Hmm... Updated quicker than I thought I would. Lot of dream sequences in this chapter, and a very delusional Leo. Hope you guys enjoy.**_

_**I Love Kittens too: Well, it was General Lee himself who claimed 'It is good that war is so terrible; lest we grow to fond of it.'**_

_**HannahCake310: But... But... If I make a crap chap I'll be disappointed with myself... Haha. I happen to like the emotionally unstable Leo (not the pissy Leo, though). I always love his conflict with Raph. For now, until I decide what to do with Martin, we must all assume he got eaten by a hungry dude. That, or he ran free without his master, found a nice girly mouse, and had billions of babehs o_0 (one of which of course winds up to be the real Splinter XD)**_

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**Chapter Twenty-One: Lying Restless**

The cool summer night gave way to a foggy morn. The sun crept slowly over the hills, serenaded by birdsong form the trees, and the sound of clinking utensils and quiet murmurings from the sleepy Confederate encampment. Even the wounded paid heed to the warm ritual. Words were few and far between, there was scarce a whimper among the wounded and dying, and the horses quietly cropped tender grasses within their reach. Until the sun had risen higher, it seemed sinful to break the silence. A few men gathered round to read a battered bible, some sat to write, using the calm to their advantage to express in the most comforting way their current thoughts and feelings.

O'Connor sat solemnly, watching the dawn and sipping from a strong black brew. Behind him in the medic's tent Leonardo lay gasping in a cot, fingers absently clenching and releasing the threadbare sheet below his body. He was aware of nothing. He was vulnerable. In this weakened state his spirit wandered absently.

_A rocky glen, a copse of trees, and a field of grapevine. A clear, cold pool. His father. Splinter gasped silently on seeing his lost son. The aged man leapt to his feet and ran swiftly to Leonardo, wrapping his arms tight around the younger man's neck. Leo hugged him back willingly, and walked with his father to his previous place at the water's edge. They sat cross-legged together, paying no mind to the bank mud as they conversed happily in the spring air. Suddenly, however, the mood turned dark. Splinter was troubled._

_"When will you return home, my son?" he asked, voice laden with sorrow._

_Leo's brow furrowed. "But Father; I am home. I came back!"_

_"No, Leonardo. You did not." His father's expression didn't change as the scenery faded. He was a depressed old man; lost without his eldest son._

_They were seated in worn rocking chairs on a breezy porch. A grizzly old hound lay between them. They were in Virginia. Margaret came out of the house, carrying a tray. On it was a cool pitcher of sweet tea, two glasses, and a sliced lemon. The kindly wife laid the tray down on a small table and left the men._

_"Jake, Caroline! You've got work to do!"_

_Leo frowned at her words. Jake? Caroline? Two children ran out of the house and split up; one rushing for the barn and the other for the fields. Their faces were completely blank; not a feature to be had. And strangely, Leonardo was not troubled at all. He tried convincing his father that he had returned, that he was home with his brothers, but the old man wouldn't listen- kept saying something about Virginia, about a Lee Brown. Leo didn't know any Lee Brown. Splinter vehemently disagreed. _

The strange dream was cut short when the medic returned to the tent and patted Leonardo awake. In his right hand he held a sickening concoction supposedly to help him with his illness. In his left he held a small knife and a bowl. After administering the tonic, 'Doc' Hempley kneeled beside Leonardo and sliced a tiny cut in his arm, over a small vein. Blood poured into the wooden bowl at a quick rate, and when the container was full, Doc pressed a small rag to the cut. The blood slowed and stopped, and Leo was left alone again. Doc was not a man for idle words. Leonardo couldn't find it in him to care; he'd sat quietly through the small exchange and hadn't so much as twitched when the blade was pressed to his arm. The eldest Hamato brother was accustomed to medicinal bloodletting, though he didn't entirely agree with the notion. His brother Donatello had insisted that there was a better way, and that the doctors and surgeons of America had without a doubt a long ways to go; on cleanliness especially. Before he made any move toward his family with a scalpel, the object was held over a flame- supposedly to burn off any impurities. It was an uncommon practice, but very effective in the Hamato household.

Sleep took Leo into its dark arms before he could think anymore on the subject.

_The scenery was unfamiliar as again Leonardo regained awareness. Hundreds of miles of mesquite thickets and softly rolling green hills greeted his tired eyes. Spread wide over the plain was a thick carpet of red, yellow and blue; spring wildflowers. Their fragrance drifted up toward Leonardo, flooding his senses. Bees, grasshoppers, and locusts buzzed in the trees and around the flowers, and small jackrabbits nibbled at tender shoots of grass. A wide river softly murmuring through the vast lands. The sun was just rising, but already it was hot. Haze rose from the surface of the earth in the distance. If Leo remembered right, this was Texas. _

_There were soft footsteps behind him, and the earth seemed to sink just a tiny bit for the slight figure who sat alongside him, legs thrust over a small crest. Jake was the picture of happiness; of serenity, as he looked and dreamed over the vast expanse of land before him. Leonardo had never seen him so blissful._

_He was a bit dirty, mud smeared on his face and legs, and dressed in loose fitting clothes; a frayed-at-the-collar cotton shirt, and worn leather suspenders holding a pair of cotton breeches to his body. His feet were bare and permanently black on the soles from running barefoot on the scorching ground._

_"Texas is a land of riches. The garden spot of the world..." The boy's voice echoed. Leo couldn't help but notice it sounded lighter, easier. With a dreamy sigh he allowed his eyelids to droop. "I wish I could marry this country; she is the fairest in the world."_

_Leo felt uncomfortable. The whispered words weren't directed at him. They seemed to echo all around him; to the mesquite, the rattlesnakes in their shadows, the cattle lowing in a far valley. Jake hadn't spoken a word that was actually meant for Leonardo's ears. It was like he wasn't there._

_"Jake?"_

_Eyes as blue as the carpet of bluebonnets below them turned and locked on his amber orbs. Some back part of his brain noted that the boy's eyes had no true color of their own; they reflected different colors depending on the light.. But Leo didn't care. Jake waited for him to speak, wheat-colored hair blowing softly in the faint breeze._

_"What's it like... Being dead?"_

_Jake's mouth turned up in an easy smile and again the eyes were hooded and gaze cast out to the boy's entire world. "It ain't like nothin' at all."_

_Leo frowned at the words. What were they supposed to mean, 'like nothing at all'? Jake stood and stretched a small hand out to Leonardo. The older man pulled himself up and stood, waiting to see where the shadow child would take him. With an exuberant laugh, Jake shoved Leo down the crest, and followed- tumbling and rolling, kicking up dust and tufts of grass, and laughing like a small child. At the bottom of the hill, he rolled to his feet and took off running. Leo followed the bare footprints and the sound of laughter through the mesquites, unable to see their source. The needles didn't touch his skin; they didn't seem to be there. The sickening heat didn't rise as he remembered it always did. A cool breeze even blew. Finally he caught sight of Jake again, standing at the top of the next hill. He was eerily still and silent, but his features were relaxed._

_Leonardo mounted the hill and stared at the boy a moment. His eyes were wide and filled with joy, his smile beaming in the sun. Leo followed his gaze downward, and the most beautiful sight to ever be seen revealed itself to him. He was sure the angels looked down in envy on the scene; that in all the realms of heaven such a sight was never repeated nor outdone._

_"See what I fought for Lee? See what cause was worth my sacrifice?"_

_Leo didn't reply, but dropped to his knees, eyes locked on... _

"Lee."

Leonardo groaned. Sleep was too beautiful a thing to waste on solemn words; especially when one was sick. O'Connor tapped him softly on the shoulder.

"Lee. We're movin' out; I'm takin' ye tae Mr. O'Neil's. It'll be good for you."

Leo was pulled off the cot and patiently clothed as if he weren't old enough to dress himself, then led out of the medic's tent. O'Connor helped him into El Dorado's saddle and took hold of the gelding's reins, leading him to his own mount. The Irishman briefly flirted with the notion he might need to tie the sick man to the saddle, but pushed the thought out of his head. He'd be fine.

He was briefly stopped and questioned by the picket line, but after a few questions they allowed him to pass. Leonardo was hunched in the saddle, knuckles white from clutching the saddle horn. His head hung limply, bobbing with his shoulders at each step of the beast beneath him. His skull was pounding unmercifully, beaten by a thousand drums. His breath came in short, shallow gasps. His once fair skin was tinged a sickly yellow, and aflame with high fever. Leo closed his bloodshot eyes and longed to die. He could feel the ghost of a hand on his shoulder, reassuring him, but knew O'Connor was ahead leading the horses.

_"'S not your time yet, Lee. You'll be fine in a couple weeks, I promise."_

"Jake?" the voice was hoarse and cracked.

_"Shh... Don't make a sound."_

He was alert; the boy, that is. Leo heeded his whispered words and kept his head bowed, unable to raise it of his own will. El Dorado stopped abruptly and lifted his great head. O'Connor glared ahead of him, staring down the barrel of a raised musket. They had been riding for three hours or more without meeting any resistance, and now were met by a pair of Yankee pickets.

Donatello and Michelangelo had been placed on picket duty, and had been patrolling for a half hour before they heard the soft steps of the pair of horses and seen the two men. They were Rebel cavalrymen. Don raised his rifle menacingly glaring hard at the lead man while his younger brother peered at the hunched figure atop the rear horse. He seemed familiar, but Don's voice startled him out of his thoughts.

"Where do you think you're going, Johnny?" the normally even-tempered man growled.

O'Connor was unimpressed with the Yank's show of bravado and huffed. "Home. Where else? Had enough o' this war."

Donatello didn't believe him for a second. "As if a deserter would be walking casually home. You Rebs are too desperate to let anyone meander home."

A hot look flashed in O'Connor's eye, temper rising to the surface. Don caught the look and smiled inwardly. _Gotcha._

"Look 'ere, Billy Yank. I'm goin' 'ome tae mah wife an' daughter, an' I'm takin' mah brother here with me."

Leo was about to look up at the two Yanks arguing with his friend, recognizing their voices from somewhere; but a whisper in his ear stopped him.

"_Don't move. Keep your head down. They'll let a man sick as you pass, but only if you play it off right."_

Mikey peered again at the sick man. He looked like Leo. It was horrifying how close the two appearances were. But Leo would never hold himself in such a manner, even if he was sick or wounded; and Leo had always somehow managed to stay clean shaven and neatly groomed. This man's unkempt hair was hanging in his eyes and was heavily bearded. No... It couldn't be Leonardo.

In the time Michelangelo was studying the sick one, Don had been interrogating the Irishman. He hadn't taken a glance at Leo, and failed to catch the sidelong amber gaze of his eldest brother. On his part, Leo didn't recognize them either in his disease-induced haze. They were just men, of no value to him. So when Donatello finally was convinced that the two were out of the war for good, they parted ways without ceremony, both parties unaware of how close they had truly come to one another, only to slip out of the other's grasp.

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_**A/N: As if I hadn't already proved how evil I was. Yeah. That JUST HAPPENED. It's not time for them to meet yet, guys! Noooope... And for the record, O'Connor was lying; they're not out of the war; they're not quitters. Guess we'll be seeing April in the next chapter.**_

_**Review, guys! I know there's more than four or five of you out there. It's great to get favorites and alerts, but reviews are what really matter to me. And then there's people in the shadows; I know you're out there! Speak up! I know there's at least twenty of you... Oh well, enough of my rambling.**_

_**I'll post the next chapter as soon as I can, guys, just be patient!**_


	22. The O'Neil's Again

_**Very short chapter, I'm sorry, but I'm in a sort of dead zone. Give me time, guys. I'll finish this story yet. Consider yourselves halfway through, or somewhere around that point.**_

_**leonardo 14 (guest): Thanks so much, I'm glad you're enjoying the story.**_

_**I Love Kittens too: Splinter recognized him- his brother's didn't.**_

_**HannahCake310: Thanks! Stay tuned, and you'll get a pleasant surprise later in the story!**_

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**Chapter Twenty-Two (when I really start regretting typing out those numbers): The O'Neil's Again**

Rustling skirts and petticoats, a disembodied voice, and a cool, wet rag on his brow were the first things Leonardo noticed. The voice was distinctly feminine, and almost familiar. But through the haze in his mind, Leo couldn't be too sure. The rag offered a moment's respite from the splitting headache making itself known, but the cloth soon absorbed his body heat, and was uncomfortable. It wasn't removed, and Leo groaned softly when more pressure was applied, making his headache intensify.

Unable to open his eyes, the weary cavalier just furrowed his brow against the pressure and moaned louder. The woman apparently noticed him this time and let out a muffled 'oh', and removed the rag. She moved, rustling through various objects, and Leonardo heard something being poured. His head was lifted gently, and the unknown woman ordered him to open his mouth.

Leonardo immediately regretted obeying, as a horrid concoction- fit to kill the devil himself, was poured down his unsuspecting throat. The liquid almost burned going down, and caused Leo to cough and sputter loudly, trying to sit up so he could breathe. A great weight seemed to be dropped on his chest, and his heavy eyes shot open in panic. His lungs burned viciously as he coughed, refusing to take in air.

The coughs turned to wheezes and then to gasps and Leonardo's heartbeat rapidly increased. April fumbled around clumsily, but found there was nothing she could do but hold him upright until he gained his breath. At this point her mother burst through the door, hearing his choking gasps, and set about beating his back hard with the palm of her hand.

Finally the pressure was lifted, and Leo graciously sucked great lungfuls of air. Tears of exertion had trailed down his cheeks and now dripped unto the bed unnoticed. Without moving his head, Leo glanced from one woman to the other, eyes wide as he panted. Without a word he collapsed back onto the bed and closed his eyes.

"Are you alright, Mr. Brown?" Mrs. O'Neil asked, her face the picture of worry.

Leo didn't really know how to respond to that, considering he had _stopped breathing_ altogether. He just shrugged, pushing himself up to lean against the headboard. April looked slightly guilty and helped him the best she could.

"I'm sorry, sir. I must have mixed it wrong," she apologized, fluffing the feather pillow behind his back.

"That's... Okay," Leo breathed. "I'm fine."

Now that his scare was over, the headache returned in full swing, making him cringe visibly. His stomach now rebelled on him as well, and he found himself holding back bile. Noticing the color of his cheeks to turn decisively green, Mrs O'Neil produced a wooden bucket and laid it at the side of the bed. Unable to hold back any longer, Leo emptied the contents of his stomach into the small object.

"Well, now that you've thrown back up all your medicine, it'd do for you to take it again," the older woman clucked, shooing her oldest daughter out of the room. "April dear, get dinner started. This man'll be hungry soon."

"Yes ma'am," April said, then smiled pityingly at Leo.

The man soon learned the meaning behind that horrible smile. At least ten different concoctions were shoved down his throat. He wasn't told what any of them were, exactly, just that they would help his stomach or his lungs or his head. After bearing through this trial of epic proportions, five more pillows were stuffed behind his back to keep him propped up, and he was given a sip of water.

Mrs. O'Neil called for O'Connor, and the burly Irishman was more than happy to pay a visit to his friend. He sat on the right side of Leo's bed in a small chair.

"Ye feelin' any better, Lee?"

"Not particularly," Leo rasped, his throat sore from coughing and from the various medicines.

O'Connor chuckled ruefully. "Oh, but our bonny Captain can take a few concoctions, cain't ye?" The question was asked with a friendly punch to the shoulder, which Leo returned in the form of a kick.

"P'shaw! Why don't you just set still while I pour ten different tonics down your throat!" Leo chuckled dryly.

As they spoke a tiny figure watched them, and giggled behind his little hands. With what he presumed to be a mighty yell, the boy launched his attack, leaping skillfully onto the bed and into Leonardo's lap. Leo, unprepared for the child's sudden appearance, let out a startled yelp and kicked his head back hard against the headboard, sending waves of pain crashing against his skull. O'Connor was roaring with laughter, and was soon joined by the boy's hysterical giggles.

Leonardo groaned, and felt a quick flash of anger at O'Connor and the boy as his head gradually stopped pounding so hard. Most of the anger was directed toward the Irishman.

But before he had a chance to act on his anger in any way, May; the second oldest daughter, came rushing in and grabbed the boy off Leo's lap.

"I'm so sorry, Mister Brown!" She exclaimed, and began scolding her brother. "July! How could you have done such a thing- Mister Brown is very sick!"

The boy just giggled wordlessly and allowed his sister to carry him away, waving to the two men. Leo glared hard at O'Connor, who had just barely regained his composure. The Irishman wiped a stray tear from the corner of his eye.

"You _so_ owe me," Leo growled, lifting a hand to place on his head.

* * *

_**A/N: Hope you enjoyed the chappie, guys. PLEASE review. I really need it for motivation right now, so if you REALLY want the story to continue, review with all your might!**_


	23. Chapter 23

Rain dripped from the roof of the cottage. It streaked down the chipped glass of the windows, and rose in a thick fog from the earth. The home was warm, almost too warm. O'Connor pressed a hand to the window, the cold seeping through his skin. Wind whistled through the cracks in the glass. The bearded Irishman sighed, but cut the action off abruptly. He'd sighed enough in the past few years. Now was time to shove aside his misgivings and celebrate being alive for once.

But as he thought this, and stared at the faint reflection of himself in the window, a series of loud, hacking coughs broke out in the room. O'Connor could hear the mucus and quite possibly blood come loose as Leonardo coughed and sputtered. O'Connor didn't move, knew the spell would pass. He heard the light thump of his friend's worn body back onto the bed.

Leonardo's condition had worsened. O'Connor fussed like a mother hen most hours of the day, but as his efforts seemed to do nothing, this day he took a small break. His hope was waning with his friend's health. Feeling tears stinging his eyes, O'Connor stopped thinking. He gulped back the lump in his throat and watched the rain silently. The rain was a gift. A blessing. O'Connor breathed a silent prayer of thanksgiving. The prayer grew in length, running silently in the Irishman's mind. He prayed for peace, for his little red-headed girl and his little wife. He prayed for Leonardo. But he spoke not a word for himself, knowing he had asked too much already.

If he concentrated, he could make out Leonardo's figure in the reflection in the glass. The man had lost a lot of weight, was now more skin and bone than muscle. Leo's breathing was shallow and hoarse, his eyes either clamped shut or half-closed and unseeing. O'Connor stood from his seat by the window and walked over to the cot on the other side of the room. He kneeled at Leonardo's side and laced his big hands lightly on the coverlet. Leonardo didn't move.

"C'mon, Lee. Ye can't just run back out like this. Ye can't just leave this matter unsettled. Get well, lad."

The Irishman paused, thought about what to say next.

"Yer country needs you, Lee. Yer wife and family need you. I need you to get up and outta that blame bed and lead us to peace. Send us all safely home. You're our leader, mate. Mine and Jake's. And while the poor boy may not be here today, he still needs your guidance. Your dyin' won't help us any."

Leonardo twitched, but O'Connor was certain the man still couldn't hear him.

"I mean it, Lee," O'Connor insisted.

Golden eyes twitched open, staring at the ceiling. The whites of his eyes were tinged a dirty yellow, like a soiled nightshirt. Leo's lips parted a bit and he whimpered, fingers clutching the sheet. His lips moved inaudibly.

The sight of his friend struggling for life brought tears to his eyes. O'Connor took one of Leonardo's hands in his own. The appendage was hot and clammy, somewhat stiff. "Lee. C'n you hear me? Listen good, laddie. You listen and ye take this to heart. I won't let you die, mate. I won't let you- you can't!"

Tears were spilling down his cheeks as he spoke, his accent thickening. "I'll keep you alive if I run mesel' intae the ground tae do it. Y'ere still young. Ye have a little wifey, all alone in Virginny. An' right now she's sittin' by a cold hearth, missin' and a-long in' for her husband. Pull through this, an' after the war you go back to her. You give the girl a family an' grow old wit' her, an' when you die, ye'll be a great-great-great grandfather a-grey headed an wrinkled all to hell an' ye can look back on yer life an' be proud!"

He was out of breath, his face wet, and his voice hoarse. Leonardo's hand remained limp in his for a long while before O'Connor felt the barest of squeezes, and his friend slipped from conscious thought. The Irishman stared at the hand in his, then his gaze very slowly travelled to his friend's face. The face was pale, beaded in sweat. Almost peaceful in sleep. O'Connor collapsed in sobs on the cot, praying for Leonardo's life.

In the doorway, April watched the whole exchange silently, unnoticed.

Maybe it was the slowly rotting meat he'd eaten, maybe it was the questionable water he'd drank. But Michelangelo, in some part of his brain knew that the way his stomach rolled over in his belly was not brought on by any sickness. He kept thinking back to the two Reb cavalrymen he and Don had let pass days ago.

The one Irishman hadn't sparked any interest. But the sick man. The weak and unkempt fellow on the buckskin gelding. That man was Leonardo. His eldest brother, who'd been gone for several years. Mike didn't speak of it, knowing his brothers would never believe him. But the fact gnawed on his stomach, eating him alive. His brother was out there. His brother was sick and dying somewhere. And he could do nothing.

Leonardo was wearing a soiled grey uniform. It was torn in several places, covered in unnamable stains. Not like Leonardo at all. And his face; yellow-tinged and wan, a scrubby beard growing, eyes blazoning with fever. Donatello didn't recognize his older brother. Raphael would sooner have killed the Rebs than talked to them, brother or not. If it weren't for the sharp instinct screaming at him, Mikey would likely not see the resemblance either.

He couldn't tell anyone. They wouldn't believe him. Ever. The warm firelight heated his cheeks. Mikey looked around. Steve, a gangly man with a lewd mind. Jeff, a dull man with the intelligence of a flea. Donnie, reading a scrap of newspaper for the thousandth time. By now he'd have picked out every detail of the print, discovered all the printing errors, and probably even discovered what kind of tree the press had made the paper out of. War was not good on geniuses. Raphael was not present, probably off drinking or storytelling with Casey.

Silently, Michelangelo edged away from the fire, crept out of the camp unnoticed, and stood in the dark. A cool breeze blew from the west, hitting his face gently. It would rain soon, no doubt. Mike could smell it over the stench of unwashed men and smoking fires.


End file.
